Three's Company, Four's a Crowd
by WillF
Summary: This story follows the events of Bioshock Infinite, but introduces new characters and has a slight AU. It's meant to incorporate more interaction between Booker, Elizabeth, and the outside world. Booker and Elizabeth still have to brave the face of Columbia together, but not without some friends this time! T for minor language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello there! This is my first piece of work, so I'd appreciate any form of commentary you feel like giving! I don't have much else to say, so enjoy the story! **

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Chapter One: The Raffle

Lucy

"Get up, we're going to be late!"

_Five more minutes. . ._

"Lucy Steele, am I going to have to come upstairs?"

_ Meh. . . _"Fine, I'm on my way. . ." I rolled out of bed, with little enthusiasm, and paced over to the dresser in my room. In the mirror, I saw the image of a young woman - nineteen, soon to be twenty - with long, light brown hair, pale skin, and chocolate brown eyes. I stared at her for just a little while before I realized her hair needed brushing, and she needed to get dressed. Today was the day of the raffle, and my parents were never late for that.

After the woman in the mirror was dressed more suitably - a light green dress with a white woolen scarf, and a pair of knee-high boots, - and her hair looked less like a jungle and more like a field, I stepped out of my room and went downstairs. "I'm ready, mom!"

"About time. . ."

"Sorry! Shall we be going?" I bowed my head to her and grabbed my bag from the rack by the door, with no particular contents. Just a few silver eagles and some make up. "Is dad coming?"

"He's already on his way down to buy our tickets before they sell out. We already waited this long!"

"Sorry, again!" I bowed my head one more time before we headed out the door, arm in arm, out into the floating city of Columbia.

The scenery was absolutely beautiful, as usual. Buildings that looked like their bases were in clouds, gorgeous buildings and streets, decorated by happy looking people. Of course, today was the day of the raffle, so there were patriotic flags strung from building to building; red white and blue everywhere. I observed the gorgeous city as my mother dragged me around by my arm, occasionally stopping to let the parade floats move through the airways.

The posters around town hadn't changed much, save a few about the raffle. The usual warnings about the "False Shepherd", propaganda about the Prophet, Comstock, and his lamb, and all of the other basic things were strewn about.

"Excuse me, miss." I was snapped back into reality by a voice to my left. I turned around to see who was speaking to me.

"Yes?"

"Oh, nothing." A man with orange hair, dressed in a green suit was the owner of the voice. Next to him stood a woman in similar attire, but the suit was replaced by a dress. "Do you think she's going to the raffle?"

"Of course she's going to the raffle." The woman spoke now. "Where else would she be going?"

"She _could _end up going somewhere else."

"But she isn't going to, because she's going to the raffle." They seemed absorbed in their argument. I was forced to leave them behind, as my only automation was determined by my mother's direction.

"We're almost there, dear." My mother had calmed down, and she wasn't wrong. We were walking through the numerous attractions. There was nothing particularly interesting, and even if there was, we didn't have time to stay and watch them. One in particular caught my eye, though. "The Incredible Handy-Man." I watched as it lumbered across the stage, hiding from cameras and posing as the announcer spoke.

We arrived the gate which led to the pavilion where the raffle was being held. My dad was standing by the automation that opened the gate, cursing under his breath.

"Hello, Dad!" I waved at him and broke free of my mother's grasp, running at him to give him a hug.

"Good mornin', sweetheart." He sighed with disappointment. "This little gate keeper here won't accept our tickets. Looks like we're missing the raffle this year."

"That's just like you, Harold. You didn't buy our tickets soon enough?" Mother was fussing at dad, so I decided to take a few steps back.

"It's not _my _fault it won't take the tickets. There's nothing I can do. Let's just head home."

Mother groaned. "It was going to be the first one Lucy'd seen, as well." She continued to grumble under her breath. "Come on, Lucy, we're leaving."

I already had an idea formulating. "You two go on ahead, I want to play some of the carnival games." I waved them off as they begrudgingly departed, and crouched by the side of the machine. I looked for the panel that would lead into its inner mechanisms, and soon enough I had cracked it open to see how it operated. With a few more seconds I had gotten the gate to the raffle open. Technology's something of a skill of mine, always has been. I don't know if there's a machine in Columbia I couldn't control.

Either way, I got into the raffle just in time. As I arrived, they were calling out the winning number.

"Isn't that just the prettiest white girl in all of Columbia?" Jeremiah Fink was the announcer, as usual. I took my spot in the crowd and stared upwards onto the stage, waiting to see what would happen. In all honesty, I'd never seen the raffle before and couldn't wait to see what the prize was. "And the winner is. . . Number Seventy-Seven!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Meeting

All throughout the crowd, people moaned in disappointment, but one voice rose through the sound.

"It's him! He's the winner!'

Everyone's attention went to the holder of number seventy-seven. The man looked about thirty, and seemed like he hadn't shaved in a while. He had short, dark brown hair and looked bitterly amused by his victory.

"Come and claim your prize!"

As he spoke, two people, tied up on stage, moved forward. Around them were automated decorations; monkeys in wedding attire. The man on the left had sandy blonde hair, and the woman on the right was a colored lady; that was probably why. But that couldn't have been the prize, could it?. . .

"First throw!"

"Go on, throw it! Or are you takin' your coffee black these days?"

Fink taunted the man in the crowd with insults. _That can't be the reward, can it?. . . _Today was the day we celebrated Columbia's secession from the Union, not threw baseballs at people who did nothing more than try to be married. . .

The man muttered something under his breath, before winding up his pitch. It looked like he was throwing the ball at . . . the announcer?

"Hey, stop!" Two policemen broke through the crowd and grabbed the man's hand before he could finish his throw. "It's him!"

Fink approached the man and leaned off stage to talk to him. "Where'd you get that brand, boy? Don't you know that makes you the back-stabbin' False Shepard?"

Everything else happened in a blur. One of the men wound up some kind of hook mechanism and looked as if he was going to cut the man's throat with it, but the "False Shepard" was too quick. He threw his raffle ball up into the air, grabbed the other policeman, and shoved his face into the hook, ripping his skull and flesh apart violently. I shrieked noticably.

Everyone in the crowd had run away at this point, but I found myself frozen. The scene that had just unfolded was too gruesome for my liking. Even after the "False Shepard" had left, I couldn't move. Up until. . .

"Hey, this woman was seen with the False Shepard! She must be a sympathizer to the Anarchist!"

I turned to find several policemen coming towards me, clubs raised. _No. . . No no no!_ I was starting to regret coming to this "raffle". One of them struck me in the arm, and surprisingly, the pain was more than I think I'd ever felt before. I fell down, and one of them raised their boot to kick me. I closed my eyes and braced myself for the pain. . .

. . . but it did't come.

I opened my eyes again to find the police officer that had been attacking me dead. In his throat was one of those hook mechanisms, held by some man I didn't know. I couldn't see many of his features; he wore a fedora with the brim down over his eyes. Under the hat was light brown hair, and he wore something that looked like one of those fancy suits I'd seen musicians wear. Full black.

One of the policemen pulled out a pistol and made an effort to shoot at the musician-suit man, but he was too quick. The musician-suit man jumped at him and grabbed what looked like a fancy hand-cannon from one of his coat pockets. He sent a bullet through the policeman's temple, and then turned to the final policeman. "I advise you leave as soon as possible." The policeman ran without another word.

"You okay?" His voice was a little frightening. Paired with his mysterious appearance, he sounded like an assassin or something.

"Eh. . . Sort of." I tried to sound as calm as possible, but that was a little hard.

"First time seeing blood?" He grinned and took his hat off, placing it over his chest. I nodded in response to his question, before he spoke again. "Will Foreman. Pleasure to meet you. And this, is Sally." He spun his gun around one of his fingers before it went back into his pocket. _What kind of creep names his pistol Sally?. . ._

"Lucy Steele." He shook my hand. "Th-The pleasure is mine."

He frowned slightly. "Am I scaring you? That's hardly a way to treat a man who just saved you from corrupt justice."

"N-no, I'm not scared, just a bit . . . shaken, and surprised."

"I don't blame you. Got a family?"

"Y-Yes, my mom and my dad. They didn't come with me." I hoped I didn't look as scared as I felt. "Our house is near here. . . The police have probably locked the whole place down. And I've probably been labelled as an Anarchist sympathizer at this point. . ."

"Hmm. We'll get you back to them, don't worry. I can take a bit of time from business to help you out." He held out his hand again. "What do you say?"

"I don't see what other choice I have. . ." I shook his hand once more. "Sure."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Trying to pump out updates as fast as I can. I know they're not particularly fleshy yet, but they'll get longer as I have more to fill them with. Thanks for sticking around! **

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Chapter Three: The Journey

"So Will, tell me a little more about yourself and 'Sally'."

"Not much to tell, Miss Lucy. And none of that is worth sharing, and Sally's my partner. Couldn't pull a trigger without her near by. So tell me more about _you."_ We were walking down the streets, making sure to avoid the policemen as well as we could. Either way, Will had his pistol at the ready at all times. He "borrowed" it from the three policemen earlier.

"Well, eh, I've lived in Columbia for as long as I can remember. My parents told me that leaving the Sodom Below was one of the best things that happened to them, but I wouldn't know. Ever sine we came here I haven't left the city."

"Ah, that's a shame. It's not that bad down there in the first place. I'm not sure if I like the religious fanatics up here anymore than I like the less-fanatical folk down there." He shoved one of his hands into his pocket and checked his pocket watch with a light grunt.

"Oh, so you're new to the city?"

"Relatively. I've been up here before, at least. Plenty of times. Never lived here for long, though." He shrugged his shoulders and ran his fingers along the brim of his hat. It added an aura of seriousness to his personality.

"Oh? What fo-" I was interrupted by a quick "shh" motion from Will.

"Policemen, right up ahead. . . hmph. Sally and I will handle this." He ordered me to go behind some barricade. I obliged.

He took cover behind a hot dog cart and reloaded the ornate hand-cannon. He closed his eyes, silently counted to three, and then peeked out from behind the cart and shot. One of the policemen fell with a bullet between his eyes- the other one took one to his shoulder and ran behind some cover. Will took his chance to move up. From what I saw, there were five policemen remaining, not counting the one with a bullet in his shoulder. Will already promised me he'd try to spare as many men as possible before he got me somewhere safe.

Of course, we had to come up with a way to keep me from becoming a wanted criminal, so we made sure no one saw me at any given point, and I made sure not to do anything illegal. After that I'd lay low for a little while and wait for it all to blow over.

Back to the situation at hand.

Will continued moving up, keeping his gun pointed at the group. One policeman rose from behind cover, and immediately fell over again with a bullet lodged in his throat. After that, Will lowered his gun and broke into a run, leaping over the cotton candy stand the policemen were using for cover. He revved up the Sky-hook and started beating the poor sods with it, drawing blood rather frequently. By the time he was done, they were all either dead or unconscious.

"Alright, it's all clear."

I reluctantly got out from behind the barricade and stared out at the scene in front of me. The gore was like nothing I'd ever imagined. "O-Oh. . ." I think I visibly started to quake.

"Yeah. . . It's not something I enjoy, but sometimes, you have to do what you can to get by. . ."

"I-I know, and I appreciate you trying this hard for me, but. . . I don't think it's something to get used to."

"You never do. And you shouldn't derive happiness from killing anyone else."

We both sat there in silence for a little while, not sure what to say.

"Well, we should get moving." I finally broke the silence.

"You're right. Lead the way, miss." He gestured in front of me and we began making our way back to my home. I wasn't sure how my parents were going to feel about this, if I told them, but I was going to have to manage.

"Okay, it's right up around this corner." We turned and went inside to my familiar home. My parents were bickering about violence not being the answer, and the "False Shepard" coming through.

"Mom, dad!" I practically shouted at them before running forward to pull them both into a hug.

"Oh, Lucy, you're alright! You have no idea how worried we were about you!" My father ruffled my hair. "We need to get out of Columbia. . . This whole False Shepard business is too crazy for me."

"Yes, dear, with all this Vox Populi speak and whatnot, I think it's about time we leave. Will you come with us?" My mother spoke now.

"Of course I will." I bit my lip nervously, hoping they hadn't heard any of the radio broadcasts.

"And what's this I hear about two Anarchist Sympathizers running about? From the descriptions on the radio, I'd say one of them looked just like you, dear." Looks like my fears had been realized. My mother spoke in a condescending and suspicious tone.

"Look, mom, I promise it's not what you think it was. I-I got into the raffle and the whole False Shepard thing happened, but I didn't sympathize with him! I just got . . . attacked. My friend here helped me out." I turned to Will for the first time. He looked rather distant, staring at things across the room.

"Right. I'm the only supposed Anarchist Sympathizer here, and it's about time I get out of here. I told your daughter I'd bring her home safe; I did. Now, you said the False Shepard came through here. Which way, exactly?" He stepped forward and addressed my father.

"Right through our back room. He looked dead set to get to Monument Island for whatever reason. . . Why do you ask?"

". . . No reason. Alright, Lucy, I'm off. It was a pleasure to meet you." He turned to leave, but I stopped him before he could.

"Wait. Could I . . . go with you?" I bit my lip, and he turned back with a puzzled look in his grey eyes.

"Eh. . . Why, exactly?"

"Well, I think it's pretty clear that it's not safe here. . . And if I travel with my parents, they're more likely to get hurt. You said you don't live here, so I think it's safe to assume you're going to be getting off soon, and I think it's just easier for everyone that way."

". . . That may be true, but are you sure you want to do that? I don't think anyone'll be happy to see me any time soon, and you might wind up in danger." He seemed genuinely concerned.

"Well, I think being with a trained . . . whatever-you-are would be safer than just traveling with my parents, no offense to them."

My father chimed in. "She's right. Could she go with you, kind sir? You took her this far."

Mother remained silent.

"Eh, I could bring her along. We'll get you off of here soon enough. Where would you say I take her to, miss and mister Steele?"

"Eh, how about Paris? I've always wanted to go to Paris." Mother spoke for the first time since she expressed her disappointment in me.

"Paris sounds nice. . . Shall we go to Paris?"

We all nodded in agreement, before Will and I headed off.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Chapter four's out now. Thanks to everyone who's read it so far, even though it's not that far in. Feel free to submit criticism! Everything helps. **

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Chapter Four: The Bay

Will's Perspective

_Well, that was certainly interesting_. I unintentionally recruited a family of Columbians and offered to take them to Paris. That wasn't what I was here for, but I make good on my deals. They'd get their vacation in Paris. After. . .

"How the hell did you manage to turn this defiant-as-all-hell gondola into our personal transport?" I asked Lucy.

"I've always been pretty good with technology. It sort of sticks. That's how this happened."

"Damn. That's a pretty useful skill. Can't imagine it won't come in handy.

"Thanks." She smiled and swung her legs from her seat, humming a tune I didn't recognize.

"Alright, we need to catch up with this 'False Shepard' if we're going to get off this city." I leaned against the side of the hijacked gondola we were "borrowing". From what I'd heard on the radio, the False Shepard had been using the skylines to get to Monument Island. A zeppelin just went down with him inside it, but as far as the Founders could tell, he was still on the skylines making his way there.

"What for? Can't we just get off of the city in this thing?" Lucy seemed puzzled, which made sense. Not many people would track down a trouble-causing anarchist in order to get away from anarchy.

"We can't just leave the town in a hijacked gondola, let alone with just the two of us. The Founders would spot us and bring us down for sure. The False Shepard probably wants to get off and out of the city, just like us, and we need his help. It's not like we're not already 'sympathizers'." I tried to sound as matter-of-fact as possible.

"I guess you're right. . . So we're going to try to catch him at Monument Island?"

"We'll try our best, and if that doesn't work, we'll just track him down. That shouldn't be too hard; he's hardly trying to be subtle, from the looks of it."

"I guess that's true. . . But I have a quick question." I didn't like where this was going. "How'd you learn to be so . . . talented? With all the shooting and hitting and violent stuff."

"That's hardly a quick question, and I can't give you a quick answer. And I don't really want to. You'll find out in time, I promise."

". . . Hmph." She grunted with disappointment. "I'm supposed to entrust my life to someone I barely know anything about?"

"Whose idea was it for you to come?"

The rest of the ride was had in silence.

Soon enough we reached Monument Island. The gondola began lowering, but as it did so, an ear-splitting shriek emanated throughout the air. I looked up to discern its source and saw a giant, mechanical bird, from the looks of it, diving towards the island quickly.

Lucy shrieked, "Songbird! Th-That's the Songbird!"

"What the hell's a Songbird?" I shouted over the sound of the air and the shriek. The Songbird thing was ripping apart the island by now. I cursed under my breath. "Isn't that where the False Shepard was?" It soon struck me that being in this situation in a stolen gondola wasn't a great idea.

"The Songbird's supposed to protect the Lamb lady in the tower! And I don't think it likes anyone being close by!"

I groaned with disappointment. "Then we're just going to have to make a little diversion!" I kicked down the door into the cockpit of the gondola and started to manually adjust the course. The nearest destination was . . . Battleship Bay. That'd have to do!

The airship ripped through the air and to the side, going towards the dock at Battleship Bay. I tried to keep my eyes on the bird, making sure it wasn't coming to rip through us. Maybe I was being paranoid; I don't think any evil bird would go out of its way to kill two people in a gondola, but I wasn't going to take any chances.

I glanced to my left with wide eyes as the glass in the cockpit shattered. The bird had flown directly next to us, and its speed had been more than enough to break the glass and send the gondola spiraling out of control.

"Luc', get in here! And hold on tight!" I didn't even have time to make sure she was safe; I grabbed the lever and held on for dear life, hoping that the ship would straighten itself sometime soon. We tumbled through the air wildly, random objects flying around the cockpit. I beer bottle flashed in front of my face, and I prayed that it wouldn't shatter and hurt anyone. _If anything, I will_ not _get killed by a bottle_. Something slammed into the back of my head, and I felt my ears ringing. The ship took yet another tumble and I found myself head first on the floor. I was, for all intensive purposes, unconscious. I vaguely remember screaming some rather poorly thought-out insults at the giant bird, though.

Soon enough, the gondola did stop spinning. It felt like it had been hours, but it felt better to be still as opposed to being flung through the air. Lucy was crouched in the corner, gripping the walls with her fingertips. "Hey, hey, I think we're better now. We pulled into the Bay."

"Ugh. . . Remind me never to get in a gondola with you again." She stood up and made her way outside.

"How's it my fault? It's the dumb bird's!" I shouted after her, but she was already down in the sands of the Battleship Bay.

I jumped off the gondola after her, and conveniently enough, it collapsed immediately after I did so, falling down into whatever was currently below Columbia. _Let's hope no one finds that._

"Either way, we have to see what we can find out about the False Shepard as soon as possible. I don't think the bird killed him. I hope he didn't, at least." I sighed.

"Can't we just relax in the Bay for a little while? We can find a radio and lay low for a little while. I'd rather take it easy for a bit. . ."

"Hmph. We can do the finding a radio part, but I don't know about the taking it easy. For all we know, he could've taken the skylines half way across Columbia by now." I sighed, looking about the Bay for anyone who might have a radio. The closest I saw was a group of people dancing by the beach side. Where there's music, there's probably a radio. I figured I might as well go talk to them. "There's our radio."

I pointed at it with the Sally's barrel, before realizing I should probably hide her somewhere. I tucked her into one of my pockets and covered her with my jacket. "Right, let's get going then." Lucy dashed on ahead of me, and I sighed. Childish excitement had no place here.

Battleship Bay. I'd been here a few times before. Had some good memories here, too. No time to be revisiting memories though. We had a radio to f- dammit.

As I got closer to the group of people dancing, I noticed that the music was not, in fact, coming from a radio, but two musicians; one on piano and one on violin. That explained why it didn't sound like the sound was coming through a sheet of cloth.

"Dammit. . ." I cursed under my breath. "This is getting to be too much work." There's no such thing as too much work, though, and I had to keep going. I walked half way down the beach for this; might as well ask some directions.

I kept making my way closer to the group of dancers, nodding my head in accord with the music. It was a nice tune. If only all of my life was as peaceful as this beach was.

Heh. That'll be the day.

_Oh, hello. . ._ One person stuck out in the group of dancers. She had long brown hair, tied back in a bow, bright blue eyes, and rather capturing features. _I think I know who I'm about to ask for directions._

She was completely absorbed in the dancing. "Hey, miss? Miss!" I tried calling to her, but to no avail. Well, there was only one option left. I jumped into the circle and started dancing.

We shifted partners repeatedly, and soon enough, I was paired up with the woman. I smiled warmly at her. "Hello there, little lady."

"And good day to you, sir." She mimicked my dialect and laughed. "Isn't this wonderful?"

"Isn't what wonderful?"

"The dancing! I've never gotten to dance with other people before, it's incredible!" She grinned and laughed, twirling around with joy.

"I've never really danced myself. I gotta' say, though, it's not half bad." I smirked at her. "Those are some weird clothes to come to the beach in." She was wearing a white blouse with a blue scarf, and a long, blue skirt.

"You're telling me? You look like you're dressed to go to some kind of meeting." She laughed again.

"Hey, so I've got a question. D'you know where I could find a ra-" Before I could finish my question, we were whisked away by new partners. She turned to me and shrugged with a grin, before being absorbed in the dancing once again.

I sighed and broke away from the group. _I'll just find a radio by myself._ I turned to leave the pavilion, before I noticed the woman talking to someone. Someone very familiar. .

"Elizabeth!" he shouted.

"Oh, hello! Isn't this amazing? Come on, dance with me, Mr. DeWitt!"

"I don't dance, now come on." He seemed frustrated, and eager to move on.

"But what could be better than this?" She smiled again and twirled, causing her skirt to spin around her.

"Well. . . How 'bout Paris?"

_. . . Now isn't that just perfect for me?_


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Booker and Elizabeth are entering the story now! I hope everyone's looking forward to the trouble these folks are going to get in together, I know I'm looking forward to writing it!**

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Chapter Five: The Picnic

Booker's perspective.

"That's where that airship's going. But if you wanna' stay here and dance. . ." I grinned at my own wit.

"No, no, let's go there right now!" Elizabeth grabbed my hand and pulled me off of the deck, with a grin that could melt a glacier.

"Mr. DeWitt." A voice called out from behind me. It was a man's; somewhat familiar, too. . . I turned to face him.

. . . And then I knew who it was. "Foreman. What the hell are you doin' here?" William R. Foreman stood in front of me, his arms crossed with a grin on his face.

"I could ask the same of you, Mr. FS." FS. . . False Shepard.

"I'm here on business. Why do you look just like you did back when we did business? You think you'd have grown out of the whole suit thing by now. How's Sally doin'?"

He frowned for a quick moment. "I like the suit, so I wear it. And of course I've still got Sally; couldn't sleep a wink without her. You, on the other hand, look rather worse for the wear. And wet. Take a swim, did you, Booker?" He slugged my shoulder lightly, before he gestured to his companion. _Oh, hello. . ._

"And who's this?" I leaned forwards and bowed my head to her.

"That's Lucy. She's a friend I made just recently. Used to be a citizen up here. I hear she saw you at the raffle, actually. Wish I'd been there."

Elizabeth chimed in next. "Uhm, I'm lost. Do you two know each other or something?"

"I concur," said this Lucy.

"We used to work together pretty often. Will was everyone's favorite informant. He knew more about anything than anyone; seen everything, been everywhere, knew everything. And that was a lot, considering his age. Not to mention he wasn't a bad shot."

"The _best _shot," he said sarcastically.

"Good to know you ain't lost that egotistical personality of yours.

"Will, so that's your name. Weren't you the one I was dancing with over there?" She smiled at him and swayed back and forth.

"How could you ever forget?" He smiled. "I don't believe we were ever properly introduced. My name is Will, Will Foreman."

"Will Foreman? As in William R. Foreman? You're the photographer! I have tons of books about you back in my tow- home!" She corrected herself quickly enough. Good.

"Photographer? Why wasn't I ever told about this?" The thought of Will snapping pictures was foreign to me.

"Because it didn't ever come up. Why, does it matter? I take pictures. Not a big deal."

"I think it's a pretty big deal! Your theories that you mention in your books are pretty incredible. 'If a picture is nothing more than a time or place on paper, whose to say that behind all the development and physical form, that there aren't gateways to these places lying around, waiting to be captured?' I could really relate." Elizabeth clasped her hands together and rocked back and forth, her eyes dreamily flicking from thing to thing.

"How? Do you take pictures?"

"Eh. . . Not exactly." She smiled nervously. What was she going on about?

"Anyways, Will, it's great that you know these people, but isn't there something we have to be attending to?" The Lucy lady tugged on his sleeve. Will was visibly annoyed. He leaned towards her and whispered something in her ear. After that, she opened her mouth and nodded her head slowly. "Oh."

"Well, that's nice, you two, but we got somethin' to be gettin' to as well." I waved at Will before I turned around to head off. "Look me up if you ever get out of here. We've got some catchin' up to do over a few drinks."

"Wait." Will took a step forwards. "Booker, I believe there's something I could help you with." He lowered the volume of his voice. "I think it's quite clear that you've gotten yourself into a bit of a sticky situation, False Shepard, and me and my acquaintence would like to help you and the little miss out. We're on our way out of this city, and I'm pretty sure that's where both of you are headed, and we'd love to tag along. Just like old times, right, DeWitt?"

I grinned at him. "I'll take you up on your offer, Foreman. We're on our way to the First Lady airship, off to Paris. You fine with winding up there?"

"Coincidentially enough, we were going there."

Huh. Convenient.

"Then off we go. Elizabeth, Lucy and Will are going to be coming with us for a while."

"Great, more friends! This is going to be fantastic!" Elizabeth started to skip on ahead.

"Em, Mr. DeWitt, if you don't mind my asking, could we sit down somewhere for a bit, maybe get some food? Will has a strict 'no-rest-allowed' policy." She glared at him, and he responded with a sarcastic grin.

"Eh, sure, I could use a break. I just fell five hundred feet into the damn bay, I could go for some rest."

"Oh, something else to add to your reputation. Nice." I elbowed Will as we walked off to find a nice picnic spot. While I set up the blankets, Will walked around and bought us various food items. Soon we all gathered at our spot right by the beach, as close to the wet sand as we could possibly get.

"So Lucy, this was your idea. Got anything in particular to talk about?" Will tormented her quite a bit, from the look of it.

"Actually, I wanted to ask Elizabeth something." Elizabeth turned towards her and sighed happily. "You act like this is your first time out in the real world. Where are you from?"

That obviously struck a nerve. "Eh. . . I'm from Columbia, of course." Monument Island, more specifically.

"No, that's not what I meant. Are you the Lamb lady?" She pieced that together pretty quickly.

"How'd you know?" These two must've been smarter than we gave them credit for.

"Well, when Will and I were looking for Mr. DeWitt, he said you were going to Monument Island. Then Monument Island got attacked by that bird thing, and now you're here, claiming that you fell into water from five hundred feet. So, it's safe to assume that Elizabeth is the lamb and you just got her out of the tower." She smiled contentedly to herself.

"I'm just not stupid. I figured it out as soon as I heard you were heading to Monument Island." Will was always terribly matter-of-fact. I wanted to hit him.

"Wait a minute. Come to think of it, how did you know that Booker was the False Shepard?" Elizabeth asked.

"Shh! Keep your voice down. She was at the raffle, and I was informed by her. I could recognize Booker fifty years from now, 'specially with that hand thing. Don't go about shouting his alias to these people," said Will with frusteration.

"Eh. . . Sorry." Elizabeth frowned just a little. "So Will, tell me more about your photography work. I'm sure you have some great stories to tell! Didn't you do a film on Battleship Bay?"

"I promise you, it's not fun, or eventful. Recording this place for hours waiting for a good shot was no fun. Though I did get a pretty neat piece of the sun rising over your tower."

"Oh, I've seen that one! You took the shot in 1909, your ninety-second film in your first collection." I continued to eat some of the caramels set out in front of me. I needed something to restore my energy from the fall into the water.

"Are you sure you don't know more about my photography than I do?" Will laughed and Elizabeth laughed along with him.

I decided it was my turn to chime in. "I realize that the two of you are hitting it off, and I hate to interrupt, but I think it's about time we got a move on. We're starting to draw attention, and if we catch the eye of that police blockade, we're goners."

"Right. We probably should get a move on, be- dammit." He cursed under his breath near the end of his sentence. "A little late for that."

We all turned our attention to the gateway out of the beach, where several policemen were getting ready for a patrol, with . . . one of those "Amazing Handy-Man" things. They were walking around the beach in minutes, asking anything and anyone about The False Shepard.

"Any of you got a plan?" The fear was evident on Lucy's face.

"I do." Will, our savior, decided to speak up. "You all pack your things and get ready to move. I'm going to go make sure this thing doesn't get you all."

"Wait a minute, you're staying behind? What's the point of helping us if you just get killed?" Remember that savior part I mentioned? Now he's just an idiot.

"You can't do that, Will! You'll get eviscerated!" Elizabeth's kind heart saw that he was an idiot, too.

"It's fine, I'll meet up with you before you even get half way to the airship. I might even be able to catch you after the gondola ride to Soldier's Field. Besides, I doubt I'll actually have to fight anybody. I've got a plan." Before anyone could protest, he stood up and dusted his hands, before running off to the police with his hat tilted down. We barely heard him over the sound of the waves and commotion around the beach. "Sirs, I know where the False Shepard is! Follow me!" With that, he dashed off with the policemen not far behind, along with their lumbering Handy-Man.

I decided to break the silence. "We should get going now."

"Is he going to be alright?"

"Don't worry, Will's not only more stubborn than a mule and then some, he's also incredibly capable. He'll be fine."

_Eh, I hope so. . . It'd be nice to have someone who knows how to shoot a gun on this trip. At the very least, he can stop a few stray bullets. _

On that incredibly positive note, we began the rest of our trip through Columbia.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: The First Time

Elizabeth's Perspective.

After Will bravely ran off to probably get himself murdered, Lucy, Booker and I started off towards the ticket booth. I hope he gets out okay. . .

"Hey, Booker! Look at this!" I grabbed two necklaces off two pillows, held by two people that looked familiar, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. "Oh, which one should I pick? The bird is beautiful, and the cage is somber, but there's something really special about it." He shrugged and picked the one on the right.

"Ooh, can I take the cage?" Lucy spoke up to the people in front of her, who handed her the other necklace. "Wait, don't I know you two?

The man and woman with the red hair ignored her. "Technically, they picked both." The red-headed gentleman started leading his companion off.

"Yes, so do we both win this time?" The woman spoke this time around.

"Guess so."

"So what's that mean for the other ones?"

"I'm not quite sure. But we can piece this out for eternity, we'd best be going." They turned a corner, and disappeared behind it. Booker groaned, muttering under his breath.

Lucy stuck out her lower lip a bit. "That was a little . . . odd. But we best keep moving." We put on the pendants and kept going forwards, ignoring the frustration awakened by the destruction of the tower on Monument Island.

There was some police checkpoint set up outside the ticket booth. Soldiers patted down people of all forms, even small children that were attending the beach with their parents. A drunkard shouted towards us, "Hey, this 'ne! He looks suspicious!" The police started to eye us, politely indicating that we should get in line. Booker and I decided it was wiser to find some way to loop around. On the far side of the room, in a dimly lit corner, there was a small door which led to the "Employees Only" section of the shipping dock. Booker rushed towards it and jiggled the handles, patting his hands together angrily.

"Damn it, it's locked." He groaned with frustration and turned away from the door.

_I can do something about that. . ._ I pulled a hairpin out of my ponytail and leaned down in front of the door.

"What are you doing?"

"You're a rougish type, what's it look like I'm doing?" With a few more seconds I'd cracked the lock open.

"Where'd you learn how to pick locks?" Booker asked.

"I'd like to know as well." Lucy asked the same thing.

"Trapped in a tower with nothing but books and spare time? You'd be surprised what I know how to do." I grinned sarcastically and we made our way through the employee's hallways. Booker and Lucy combed through desks and cabinets for supplies and Silver Eagles, provided we'd need them.

We took a left into one of the hallways, where a couple was standing. The man on the left had sandy blonde hair, and the woman on the right was a colored lady. "Hello, sir." They waved towards Booker.

"Hey, weren't you the two people from the raffle this year?" Lucy placed a finger on her chin. "Did you two get away?"

"Yeah, we did, thanks to your friend here. We just wanted to thank you again, sir." The man bowed his head in thanks.

"Daisy said someone like you would come along."

"That's so nice of you, Booker!" I grinned at him.

"I'm not good at acceptin' thanks, so we'll just be on our way." He made an effort to walk past them, but was stopped.

"Please, let us help you! We can contribute to your cause! We know you're the False Shepard." The man placed his hand on Booker's chest.

"And what could you do for us, exactly?" asked Lucy.

"I work in Finkton. I've got tons of odds and ends hidden down there in my home, including some things I think you might find valuable." He took a step back and pulled something out of his coat pocket. "This is a picture of my establishment. You just come find me if you ever need any kind of help at all, or a place to stay. We'll more than welcome you."

"That's very generous of you, sir," I said, "But there's something else I'd like you to do."

"What's that?" asked the woman. "We'll do anything, anything at all!"

"If you see a man in a fancy suit coming this way, and we've already gotten on the gondola, tell him I said thanks. A lot."

"No problem. Will do. Anything else, sir and madams?"

"Nope. have a nice day. "After we waved goodbye to the couple, we started making our way to the ticket booth. There were tons of Duke and Dimwit displays set up, and all sorts of other childish attractions.

"Excuse me, kind sir, do you have the time?" A woman flirtatiously waved her hand at Booker as she asked the question.

I answered for him. "It's . . . about seven thirty." I smiled and waved at her.

"Oh. . . Ehm, thank you." I giggled under my breath.

We were headed upstairs now, about to go through one of the revolving checkpoints before a woman stopped us. "Annabelle? Oh, Annabelle! It's me, Esther!"

She seemed to think I was some "Annabelle" person. "Oh, no, I'm not Annabelle. My name is Elizabeth."

I heard Lucy whispering to Booker behind me. "Should she be saying her name to strangers in public like this?"

Booker whispered back, "No, she shouldn't, but too late."

The Esther lady waved us by after I explained to her again that I wasn't her friend Annabelle. "That was odd."

Booker sighed lightly and rubbed his hands together nervously. "Don't be so careless next time. You never know, Elizabeth."

"Right, and you're marching around with A.D. on your hand. Calm down, Booker, it'll be fine." Lucy stood up for me, thankfully.

We went upstairs to find a man ordering a hot dog in front of the ticket salesman's booth. Booker went up and asked him for his ticket. "Oh, mister! You're going to get mustard all over your nice suit!" I tried to warn a man that mustard was pouring out the end of his hot dog, but something more alarming happened behind me.

"Sorry for the WAIT!" After that, all I heard was Booker screaming and guns being pulled out. The man with the hot dog tried to grab me, but I slapped him before I kicked him in the groin area. Lucy shrieked as a man pulled a gun on her, but I hit him on the back of the head before he could hurt her.

"Booker, what's going o-" I turned around to see Booker with a shotgun smoking, with blood poured out all around the corpse of the Esther lady we'd been talking to earlier. She had a pistol in her hand, but . . . Booker just . . . killed her.

I shrieked and started to run away. He called after me, "Elizabeth!"

"Get away from me!"

I started to run towards the gondola ahead of us, no longer concerned with tickets or hot dogs or mustard. I just wanted to _go._ I needed to get away from Booker.

"Elizabeth!" I turned around to see Lucy and Booker chasing after me. "Just stay where you are."

"Get away from me!" I ran inside the gondola and started pulling on the lever, desperately trying to make it move, but to no avail. It was worthless; it wouldn't budge for me. I turned to see Booker come inside, and I retreated to the corner of the cockpit as I watched him move the lever like it was nothing. "Y. . . You killed those people."

"Elizabeth, I-"

I interrupted him. "You killed those people! You're a monster!" I pushed him aside and turned around, sobbing. Why was this so hard to witness? I read about it in books all the time, but seeing it in real life, it was just . . scary. To think that someone I acquainted myself with would kill all those people . . . scary.

"What did you think was gonna' happen? Hm?" Booker spoke softly from behind me and turned me around.

"Wha-"

"Do you understand how much trouble those people went through to keep you locked up in that tower? You're an investment to them."

I looked down at Booker's hand, and noticed it was intensely bleeding. It looked like it had gotten stabbed through or something. "You're hurt." I grabbed it and tried to bandage it. While I did so, Lucy tried to comfort me.

"Look, I know it's not a good thing, and that's how I felt the first time I saw it happen. But a friend of mine told me that you have to be able to do what it takes to survive, and right now, you're more important to us than they were. Not to mention, they attacked him. . . Booker didn't have much of a choice. You're going to have to forgive him eventually if we're going to get off of this city." She smiled at me and patted my shoulder, and for a minute I felt better.

"I suppose I better get used to it. . . I know a thing or two about medicine, by the way. I'll do my best to keep you stocked with remedies, and if your wounds are deeper, I'll do my best to keep you on this side of the abyss."

"I appreciate it. Now let's get going to . . . Soldier's Field, I think, is the easiest way to get to the airship from here."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: This particular chapter is about Will and what he was up to while everyone else was moving through Soldier's Field. It's rather lengthy, the longest one I've written yet, and I hope you enjoy it! Lots of action in this one. **

* * *

Chapter Seven: The Handy-Man

Will's Perspective.

_Lead a group of policemen and their giant tin death machine on a wild goose and quite possibly get myself killed in the process? Well, I can't say it was on my to-do list, but it's a little too late to question that._I made up, on the spot, the whole lie about the anarchist holding a woman and child in a dark corner, but I was having difficulty finding a dark corner to trick the policemen into. And there was the fact that they might not believe me when I come up with my convincing lie as to why no one's there.

"I know he was around here somewhere. . ." I made an effort to look as frustrated as possible, glancing throughout the streets. _Go left._ "I think it was this way!" I pointed into the alleyways and led them forward with a wave of my hand. Goose chases are fun.

I spontaneously whisked throughout the streets near the bay, praying that no one would start to question my lack of direction. This was for Booker. He'd owe me more favors than I could count to after I was done, assuming I got out of this alive.

Eventually, I reached the "corner" that I needed. Conveniently enough, there was trash and whatnot strewn about and made it look like there might have been a real struggle. "H-He was right here. . . Dammit!" I violently threw my fist down, trying to look disappointed. "I'm sorry, officers," I said as I began to turn to face them. "Look s like he got awa-"

Just as I turned around, I came face to face with the barrel of the policeman's gun. "We just got a radio broadcast about the Anarchist Sympathizers, and their location. Battleship Bay. That you, kid?"

I took a step back. This wasn't going to end well for me. "Why, of course it's not me!"

The man grinned a cruel grin. "You think we believe that for a second?" He quickly pulled his gun aside and shot me in the left shoulder. I groaned in pain and grasped the wound violently. "I'm gonna' let the Handy-Man handle you."

I tried my best to smile at him. "Mind if I handle you, then?" I grabbed Sally from my jacket pocket and placed it to the man's forehead, before pulling the trigger. A violent boom shot out from the gun's barrel before he crumpled to the ground. I turned to shoot his companions, and managed to hit one of them without another wound, but the third put another round in my shoulder. I tried to shoot Sally once again, but the pain from the recoil was so terribly immense that I couldn't hold her still enough to get a good shot in. Sky-hook it was.

I pulled it over my wrist and revved it up, before running towards the policeman. The nagging feeling in the back of my head that there was something more important to worry about wouldn't disappear, but I simply grabbed the head of the policeman and drove the hook through his ribs. As one could expect, he was dead pretty quickly.

I sighed, before stuffing Sally back into my jacket pocket. She wouldn't do me any good here. _What was that other thing I had to deal with?_

As if on cue, a big heap of brown metal leaped at me, grabbed me in its monstrous hands, and hurled me at the wall behind me.

_Oh, right. Handy-Man. _I stared at it, unable to stand. The bald, lifeless head looked incredibly out of place on top of that giant tank with the heart in it. _What kind of stuff is in that tank, anyways? Melted down flesh? _As one could expect, its hands were incredibly disfigured; they looked almost like tin cans welded together. Its arms were large wire structures framed in metal bars. Compared to the rest of it, its legs were ridiculously minuscule, and I probably would've laughed at it if I was in any mood to laugh. But I wasn't.

I didn't even want to imagine how much damage that had been to my shoulder, but I saw quite a bit of my own blood staining the ground beneath me. I subconsciously reached into my jacket to grab Sally, but then I realized my good shoulder was destroyed and I probably couldn't get a good shot in with the other one. It wasn't exactly a small target, but I didn't want to take any chances. So running it was.

I dove into a roll past the Handy-Man, whose handy-hands grabbed the spot where my head had been just a minute ago. With nothing better to do, I started running randomly. I got in a few shots with my undamaged hand, but I would've been surprised if any of them found their target. Not only was I running and seriously hurt, but I was a left-dominate fighter. I needed to find something to kill this thing with. . . As we weaved through the streets randomly, it picked up various objects and hurled them towards me. Hot dog carts, crates, street signs, - _Wait, what the hell!? Is that a _carriage_!? And the horse? _This thing was a lot more determined to kill me than I'd initially thought. _I really need a detour. . ._

I hit the jackpot, metaphorically speaking. There was an alleyway that was just small enough for me to weave into at the end of this road, which otherwise resulted in a dead end, but wasn't quite big enough for the Handy-Man. I turned around to get a look at how close the beast was. . .

and saw a fistful of metal fly towards me.

I was fast - and smart - enough to jump out of the way, but not fast - and smart - enough to avoid getting struck in the shoulder. And, what do you know, same shoulder as last time, and the time before that, and the time before that. _Am I on a lucky streak or what? _

As soon as I regained what little balance I had, I started frantically sprinting for the alleyway. Occasionally, I'd glance over my shoulder to get a peek at what it was doing, and each time I grew more and more frightened. It was either immediately behind me or grabbing something monstrous to send my way. _This street can't be that long, can it? _I turned around one last time to see the Handy-Man holding a segment of a pipe it had ripped out of a wall, causing water to spurt out. When the water landed on it, it started to . . . fizzle. Like electronics do when you splash water on them. _That might come in handy at some point. . . _

Lady Luck and were never exceptional friends, though, so it popped back into action a few seconds later, and I had been too busy thinking to stop myself. It threw the pipe at me as I sprinted, and conveniently enough, it slammed right into the ground beneath my feet, causing me to trip on it. I felt pain across the front of my chest as I skidded forwards and into the alleyway, scraping the flesh on my hands and drawing more blood. I'd attend to that later, though. I spun around on the ground and stared at the Handy-Man as it thrashed violently, trying to get into the alley. I pulled out Sally and shot at it as accurately as I could, and what do you know; even with my bad hand I'm a crack shot. I put a round where its heart was, causing the glass to crack, but not quite break. This turned into a bad thing almost immediately, and it started to peel away the walls. But even after the bricks had cracked and the insides of some of the buildings were showing, it couldn't fit. Sooner or later it wised up and decided to find some other way to terrorize me, but I didn't plan on being around when he did. I stood up and dusted myself off, smearing blood all over my jacket from my hands. "I really need a bandage," I said aloud, entering that period of combat when your common sense decides not to work.

On the other side of the alley was an equally run-down street, but it had everything I needed. Cloth, water, plenty to clean the bullet wound with. I attended to my injuries briefly, creating a makeshift bandage and wrapping my hands in some gauze from a looted medical kit nearby. _I better start heading towards the First Lady, else I'll get left behind here. . ._

The streets were practically empty as I made my way back to Battleship Bay. Apart from the occasional looter you saw making his money off the anarchist attacks, no one was around. Not even patrols. Which was . . . odd, to say the least. You'd think they'd at least be looking for Booker around here, considering Anarchist Sympathizers were spotted nearby. The air was vacant, as well. No gondolas, no airships, no zeppelins; absolutely nothing. I was starting to get a bad feeling about this. The walls were coated in paint, secret messages about the Prophet and whatnot hidden in code. I was no Columbian-code-breaker, though, so most of it was just bland to me.

I used the back roads to make my way into Battleship Bay, avoiding any officials; all this blood wouldn't blow over well. I really needed a change of clothes.

The beach was just as peaceful as it was before, the only difference being the sun, which rested on the water's horizon. Couples gathered in front of the shore, resting their heads on each other's shoulders and staring into the gorgeous display in front of them. It was a little moving, even to me, and most of the time I was ice-cold and sarcastic when it came to feeling.

I stood on the pavilion where the group had been dancing earlier, staring out into the sunset. I deserved a break. The rest wasn't worth much, but it'd get me through another hour or two of this stuff until I absolutely collapsed. Sleep is what I needed right now, but I didn't have time to sleep. That'd have to wait for later.

The water slapping against the shore and the sounds of the waves were rather soothing, now that the beach was silent. But something was off. . . Something was sounded from above, like lots of air moving around. That might be understandable since we're in the clouds, but this was abnormally close. . . It sounded almost like a warship.

"Freeze!" A blinding light flashed against my face and I rose my hand to block it, gritting my teeth. "You're under arrest for associating with the False Shepard, destruction of property, obstruction of justice, the deaths of multiple city officials, assault, illegal alcohol possession, and any other crimes committed!"

"Illegal alcohol possession? What the hell, I don't even drink!" _Sure, everything else on the list was somewhat true, but one wrong part is as good as the whole thing being wrong. Use that in every argument that ever comes up. _Soon enough my eyes adjusted and I could see the airship. Many Columbian officials stood at the railings, some armed with rockets, others with machine guns, but there was something far more concerning that I noticed.

Our old friend, the Handy-Man, was back. It was the same one as before; it still had the crack on the glass covering its heart, bless Sally, and it sure as hell wanted me dead. Normally I'd have made some kind of sarcastic remark and taunted them.

But I ran instead.

The metal mass leaped down from the ship, causing it to descend and lose balance, and landed where I had been standing not even a moment ago, with its fist in the ground. All the legs cracked and the wooden structure tumbled to the ground, now no longer useful for anything. I stared at Frank - I'll name it Frank for now - before sprinting furiously towards the gate to another part of the beach. I needed a miracle right about now, and I still had to handle the gun ship.

_Hey, what's that?_ I turned to my right to, rather conveniently, see one of those Vigor vending machines- Vend-O-Vigor or something. _Vigors? Aren't those the thingies that let you shoot fire and electricity and whatnot out of your hands? I could use one of those. . ._ I approached the vending machine and started to wheel through its inventory, praying that the Handy-Man was as stupid as it looked and couldn't catch up to me.

_Devil's Kiss. . . No, fire won't hurt that thing. . ._

_ Bucking Bronco. . . I seriously doubt getting that thing into the air will help me much, if it's even lift-able. . ._

_ Charge. . . If I thought hitting the thing would work, I'd have used the Sky-Hook. . ._

_ . . . Undertow? _I had a brief flashback, remembering the way the water effected Frank. If this informational image was correct, this thing let me shoot water out of my hands, and I could really use some water right now. _It'll have to do._

I punched in my selection and watched as the bottle cascaded down the chute. I grabbed it and almost immediately downed the contents, before feeling what I think might be the most intense pain I've ever felt. Ever. And I'd been through a lot of pain that day.

I looked down at my hands, shocked by what they were. Every few inches or so, suction cups were growing out, and my flesh felt like it was being torn off, put back on, and torn off again. After a few seconds, that felt more like hours, the pain was over and my hands looked normal again, but now I was back to business with Frank. And it looked like he'd finally caught up to me.

"Might as well give this thing a try,"I said aloud, before doing what felt natural with the vigor. I sent a tendril of water towards the monster and watched as he was electrocuted. Technology and water; it's not safe, kids.

I laughed as Frank twitched, until it wiped some of the water off of its face and came charging at me again. I did the same thing once more, grinning at the fool, before I realized that the water wasn't doing anything more than paralyzing him. I'd need to damage him somehow. . .

As if on cue, I thought of something. What if I used one of the water tendrils to wrap the poor sod up and drop it into the bay?. . . _That'll have to work._

I started taunting him and running towards the part of the beach that was closest to the water and inhaled deeply. "It's now or never. . ."

The creature jumped at me with its fist raised, so I did what anyone would do: I shot the giant tendril of water around the thing. I tried to tighten the grip around it, but felt my power slip away slowly._ Dammit, I was new to this thing._ He fell to the ground, once again writhing from the electricity coursing through it. _Only got one more shot, Will, make this count. . ._ I ignored the incredible pain in my shoulder and sent the tendril towards him one more time. This time, I lifted it off the ground with ease and felt the tendril tighten like steel bindings around the damned Handy-Man. Without a second of hesitation, I hurled the beast down into the bay, groaning with effort.

"See ya' later, Frank, you damn tin can!" I raised my hand to do a two-finger salute, but then I realized that my shoulder was desperately begging to be put out of its misery. _Right. . . And I still have an airship to take care of. I can borrow some new clothes from them, though. _The ship had been watching our fight closely and didn't seem very happy with the fact that I'd just murdered their greatest military creation with water. The PA crackled to life again, revealing the voice of a war-hardened veteran.

"Kill that bastard!"

_Way ahead of you. _I ran towards the gunship with as much of a lead as I could possibly get, using the Sky-Hook to pull myself towards the hooks on the side of the ship. Being a magnet was kind of odd; the force was so obnoxiously great that it almost felt like my arm was getting pulled off. The good one, at least. The other one couldn't feel anything.

I latched onto one of the hooks and prepared another tendril of water. To make a point, I picked up one of the men with a rocket launcher and hurled him over the side of the ship, sending him flying down into whatever was below Columbia. _I hope nobody finds that, either. At least now the gondola has a friend. _But back to the matter at hand; the police's forces, now counting in seven, were significantly less confident in their power now. None of them raised their gun to take a shot, as if not shooting me would make me any less likely to kill them. That's a funny thought.

I swept another one overboard with each tendril, now planted on the deck and shooting men off of it with ease. This vigor made me feel obnoxiously powerful. Now there was just one man left. . . Time to end this. I pulled the water out of my hand and collected it around my fingertips, indicating his demise. His legs were shaking furiously.

"No, sir, please, I have a family to get back to! I won't do anything to you again, I promise, I'll even try to throw them off your case! Just don't kill me!" The last man dropped his weapon and begged, down on his knees. "I'll do anything!"

I sighed, taking pity on the man. "Can you swim?"

"Y-Yes sir, I'm excellent! Why?" Relief flushed across his face.

"Because you're about to go for a swim." I grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the ship.

"S-Sir, no, please! Can't you just put me do- Aaaaahhh!" he screamed, as he flew off the edge of the boat. The water was only a good twenty feet below us, so he should be fine.

I dusted my hands off and shoved them in my pockets, sighing happily. Maybe I could even use this boat to get to the First Lady before Booker and the rest of them do. That'd be nice.

But, as fortune would have it, I wasn't done yet. A giant, practically, busted out from the cockpit of the airship. "You!" he shouted, holding a shotgun in his hands. The soldier was practically a mountain of muscle; short, shorter than me at least, but frighteningly well built. He was wearing a suit similar to mine, which I guess was standard-issue for people who were amazing at everything. Not that I'm boastful or anything.

He aimed his shotgun at me, "You killed all my men! You killed that Handy-Man! Fink's gonna' have my head by the time I get back, but before that, I'm gonna' gut you and feed you to the ravens!"

I smirked at him. "You're gonna' have to kill me, first." I moved to blast him over the railing of the ship, but. . .

Nothing came out. Water refused to move from my hands. It was almost as if I was out of some kind of resource. I flapped my hands about frantically, wondering if the vigor was only a temporary enhancement. _If so, I want my money back._

"Don't know how Vigors work, do you, boy?" He grinned maliciously and pulled something out from one of his pockets. "Y'need these to keep them runnin'. What were you, born under a rock?" He waved a bright blue bottle at me, tormenting me. "Come and get it."

He raised his shotgun and prepared to unload it into me, but I dove to the side just in time to avoid it. His reflexes were slower than mine, so as long as I didn't trip over anything, I could wear him out until he needed to reload. That was my ticket. Columbian shotguns had about seven slugs that could fit, and he'd fired one so far. He shot another, in frustration more than anything- I couldn't see him, but I heard the metal clanging against the metal of the ship. "Coward! Ain't you got a gun?" Paul - he looked a little like a Paul - turned the corner I was hiding behind. He fired again, which I barely ducked under, and stormed past him. He fired again - that's four, - and I felt one of the bullets whizzing past my skull, blowing my hat to the side slightly. I just needed to weave about some more.

Five, he blasted at the crate I was hiding behind.

Six, he shot at the bottle I threw out from behind a corner.

Seven, trying to shoot through the wall. Idiot. _Here's my chance. _

I rushed out from cover and ran towards him, planning to wrestle him off the side of the ship. He laughed and made an effort to shoot his shotgun, but all that sounded was a 'click' that indicated it needed a reload. "Looks like the shoe's on the other foot, Paul!"

"Paul? My name is Roger!" Well, I did say he _looked _like a Paul, not was a Paul. I collided with him, sending his shotgun skittering across the deck. I started to punch him furiously, ignoring the pain that the action inflicted on my arm. Soon enough, he became aware that he was losing this battle and started to struggle towards his weapon; he clocked me in the face, sending me sprawling off of him. "God dammit!"

He laughed and rushed for his gun, but not before I ran up behind him and put him in a headlock. I tightened my grip around his neck, constricting the air flow to his throat. "Got anything else to say?"

He choked, trying to curse at me, waving his arms around furiously.

"I didn't think so."

On that note, I sent him down into the depths of the sky. Ironic.

Now that Paul was handled, I entered the cockpit of the gunship. It operated on simple geographic coordinates, which I could easily look up in the "Columbia's Placement; Today" section of the book next to the controls. Now I needed to get to Soldier's Field. I punched in the coordinates, and took a seat in the pilot's chair. I wonder if this was how Paul felt.

_So, list of today's accomplishments._

_1: Lead policemen on a wild goose chase._

_2: Get shot in the shoulder._

_3: Outwit a Handy-Man._

_4: Watch the sunset._

_5: Kill Frank._

_6: Leaned that Vigors are fun._

_7: Wiped the deck of a gunship - literally._

_8: Killed a guy named Pau- Roger._

_Today was fun. _


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: The Picture

Elizabeth's Perspective.

After we got off the gondola, we entered the Grand Entrance to Soldier's Field. A giant hall with just about everything patriotic that they could find; A giant automaton eagle waving its wings around, dressed in a standard Founder uniform, surrounded by Duke from the Duke and Dimwit cartoons, all of which were marching and holding rifles. I'd read about it before in my books. Booker led us to the right and towards a flying diagram of the park, explaining who created it and how it was crated. Rosalind Lutece was responsible for a vast majority of Columbia's technology, and the credit for this feat was given to her as well.

"A floating amusement park," said Booker.

"It's designed to acquaint children with national service." I crossed my arms and stared at the diagram of the amusement park.

"You mean the military? They're trying to recruit children?" Booker asked.

"Yeah. They've got groups you can sign up in to become a Junior Founder. I used to come here all the time when I was younger." Lucy sighed. "It's upsetting."

Booker shrugged. "Either way, it isn't our place to judge. We've got to keep going." He started to march across the hall, past the giant, metal eagle in uniform, surrounded by the marching Duke mannequins.

I still had a nagging feeling at the back of my head that I was forgetting something, though. "Wait, where's Will? He said he'd catch up to us before we even got on the gondola, and he's not here."

"He said he'd catch up to us before we got on the _airship, _Elizabeth, I'm sure he's fine." Lucy smiled reassuringly at me and made her way across the room as well. I begrudgingly followed them, but just as we approached the gateway out, something started to buzz lowly. Our eyes were drawn to the conduit next to the gate. Inside was a blue substance that appeared to be emitting static electricity, which was absorbed through the conduit, which powered the electricity. It started to buzz more ferociously, and eventually it exploded, splattering the walls with the residue of the substance. The lights flickered, the automatons stopped moving, and the gate collapsed.

"This gate is shut up tight," I said. "How are we going to get through?"

"Let me see if I can get this thing open by hand." Booker leaned forward and lifted the gate up, holding it just long enough for the three of us to get under.

"Hey Booker, what's this?" I leaned forward and observed the two crates in front of me; filled with a vigor called "Bucking Bronco". It was contained in a golden bottle, and the lid resembled a stallion, rearing, as if upset by its rider. "You want it?"

"Hey, don't mind if I do." Booker leaned forward and grabbed one of the bottles. He began to down the contents, but before he could even finish, he dropped the bottle. He screamed and stared at his hands, turning them around as if something was devouring them whole.

"Eh, Elizabeth? Is he okay?" Lucy grabbed my shoulder and pointed towards him.

"Uh. . . I don't know. . ." I waved my hand in front of his face, but it didn't seem to phase him. He was stuck in his own little world. "I've read about the negative effects of consuming the Vigors. After drinking it, you're supposed to hallucinate and feel an intense amount of pain." I put my finger on my lip and leaned forward, observing him as he screamed and flailed. After a bit he regained his senses and shook his head.

"Woo. . . That wasn't no sample." He chuckled to himself and continued on his way, leaving us with puzzled expressions.

"Eh. . . Let's keep going, then." Throughout the boardwalk, people were advertising their products; hot dogs, stuffed animals, cotton candy, all sorts of things. There was an aura of happiness all around.

"Oh, come on, Booker!" Lucy pointed towards the ice cream shop to our left. "Can we go get some? Please?" She clasped his arm and started to pull him towards it. "It was my favorite back when I was little, please?"

"We don't have time," he said, blatantly crushing her hopes.

"Come on, Booker, can't we? It'll only take a bit, and we could use something good for a chance." I crossed my arms at him and glued a cross expression to my face, trying to force him into it.

"Fine." After a while of Lucy's whining, he submitted and we entered the shop. "What do you two want?"

The man smiled. "You can pick out anything ya' see here!" He pointed at various different flavors, explaining them and telling us what they were made out of.

"You pick for me, Booker!" Lucy giggled uncontrollably, reverting into a childlike state.

"You can pick for me, too. I'll find us somewhere to sit," I said, before walking away from the two of them. I picked a booth right by the window, so I could keep watch for Will in case he showed up. I looked over at Booker and Lucy, Booker trying desperately to hide his embarrassment and escape from the shop, Lucy bubbling about happily. It was kind of cute, to be honest. I'd never tell Booker that, though. He seems like the kind of guy who, if called cute, would put a bullet in something.

I shivered, regretting that thought. _Putting a bullet in something. What have I gotten myself into? Booker's a trained killer, Lucy's just an innocent girl trying to get out of here, and I don't even know what Will's supposed to be. This can't end well, can it? _

_No. It will end well. You'll get to see Paris, and you, Booker, Will and Lucy are going to live happily ever after, free of this whole thing. It'll be just like one of the story books. _

Booker and Lucy sat down across from me, holding three ice cream cones. Booker picked some brown caramel concoction, telling us it reminded him of something dear to him. I wound up with plain vanilla, but I couldn't even identify what Lucy's cone was.

"What . . . is that?" The blend of colors - green, orange, pink and red - startled me.

"It's something the man called 'swirl'. It's tons of fruity flavors put together, absolutely amazing!" She took a bite out of the cone with enthusiasm, grinning widely. "Isn't this fun?"

I smiled at her. "I guess it is kind of fun. Apart from the whole breaking out of the city thing, we're really just on one big vacation, aren't we?"

"No, this is not a vacation, this is serious. We've got to get out of here soon, or none of us are gonna' live to see Paris." He spoke in a hushed tone. "You two need to get your priorities straight."

Lucy frowned and grabbed Booker's ice cream cone. "Stop being such a downer, we'll be fine!" She shoved it onto his nose and started to rub it around on his face, much to his dismay. We laughed hysterically, as did others in the restaurant, including the man at the counter, but Booker was far from amused. He grabbed the cone from Lucy, and began to wipe his face off with a towel.

"This isn't time for you to play around! We have genuine work to do, if you don't want to do it, just go back home with your parents or somethin'." He wiped his face down with a towel, and I almost wished he could see Lucy's face. She looked as if someone had just killed something adorable in front of her.

"Okay. . . I guess we should go now," she pouted.

"Finish your ice cream and meet me outside." He slid past her and out of the booth, before leaving the restaurant behind.

"That was funny, Lucy, he's just upset because the joke was on him. He'll be fine as soon as we get out there," I said, comforting her.

She smiled at me. "I know it was funny. I just should've been more respectful, is all. C'mon, let's finish up."

"Oh, I meant to ask you, what's your relationship with Will? Out of all of our conversation topics, he's probably been the most vague. Do you know anything about him?"

She tilted her head slightly. "I don't know any more about him than you do. If you mean 'relationship' relationship, we're just friends, and it's going to stay that way. Why?" She started to smirk. "Getting ideas now that you're out of your tower?"

I was probably blushing at that point. "N-No, I just want to know about who's protecting me. Nothing more than that!"

She grinned at me and took another bite out of her ice cream cone. "No need to hide it, it's okay! I can tell that you'd like one of those fairy tales you read to come true, now that you're out."

I slammed my hand down on the table. "Stop teasing me!"

She laughed ferociously and completed her ice cream. I followed suit. After we'd disposed of everything and thanked the shopkeeper for his hospitality, we went outside to meet Booker. "Sorry we took so long!" said Lucy.

"No problem," he said.

"So Booker, I was thinking since Elizabeth just got out of her tower, we should take her around to show her what it's like to have fun for once. What do you say? Pleeeaase?" She started to tug on his sleeve and whine again. _This girl's good at getting what she wants. _

Knowing that resistance was futile, Booker agreed to her terms; an hour of doing whatever we wanted, and then getting back to business, at the cost of all the other fun trips we could have. I figured an amusement park was about as fun as it could get, so we didn't try and negotiate any further than that. We ran about, looking for rides that weren't closed, playing with kids, just about anything we could find to do, while Booker crossly polished his gun.

"Oh, Elizabeth, let's go see if there's anything we can buy for you! As a keepsake, you know?" She winked at me and we proceeded to drag Booker about some more, looking for a place to go.

Near the back of the boardwalk, there was this quaint little souvenir shop that sold all sorts of things. One thing in particular jumped out at me; a doll of my old guardian, Songbird. As we walked inside, I waved hello to the Shopkeeper. "Hello!"

"Hello yourself. Keep your hands where I can see them." He scowled at me and started making his way back behind the desk.

"Oh, what's this?" I reached forward to touch the biggest doll in the building, but an automated voice popped out of it as I did so. I jumped back in fear, with a light scream.

I looked over at Booker and Lucy to see them trying to hide their laughter. The shopkeeper was not trying to hide it.

Lucy walked over to me and giggled. "Here, let's grab this one." She grabbed one of the smaller songbirds and approached the desk. "How much for this one?"

"Twenty eagles, little miss." Lucy nodded and smiled at me, before dumping out the contents of her purse and playing for the stuffed animal.

"Think of it as a souvenir for your first day out." She smiled at me and handed me the doll. "Come on, there's tons more fun stuff to do around the boardwalk. We can go see one of the Duke and Dimwit shows, if you want."

"That sounds fun, I guess."

Booker decided to rain on our parade. "I hate to be a downer, but we have an airship to catch, and you two lolling about isn't getting us there any faster."

"Come on, Booker! One show, please?" Lucy batted her eyelashes and clasped her hands in front of her chest.

He begrudgingly accepted our request to go watch the Duke and Dimwit performance down by the gondola station. We watched one or two skits before we started off towards the dock once again.

"Remember, boys and girls! Don't be a Dimwit!" We said simultaneously, giggling hysterically afterwards.

"This has been really fun, y'know." I sighed happily and looked up into the sky. "I always pictured that it would be this wonderful out here. . ."

"Excuse me, misses and mister, would you like to take a complementary picture to commemorate your day here? Free of charge!" A man called out at us from behind the tarp of his camera, beckoning us over with one hand.

"Oh, come on Booker, let's go do it! Please?" Lucy grabbed Booker's hand and dragged him over to the photographer, and I skipped after them gleefully.

We stood in front of the carousel and smiled at the camera. "One. . . Two. . . Three!" The flash struck us and the picture was taken. "Thank you misses and misters, I'll develop that in a bit." He came out from behind the picture, but what we saw wasn't any old camera man. He wore a jazz musician's suit, a fedora with a crumpled left side, and had light brown hair.

"Complementary of William R. Foreman, famous photographer and film artist."

Lucy frowned. "See, I told you he'd be alright. Even if a bit annoying."

"Yeah, I guess he is alright." I squinted at him. Did his jacket look a little . . . bloody? "Are you?" I asked.

"Frank played for keeps. I can't fire a gun with the two bullet holes in my shoulder, and I think I mighta' busted a rib, but other than that, I'm dandy. If you can call that dandy, that is." He grinned at us and walked a bit closer, but I wasn't amused at all. "I managed to wipe out a gunship and booked a ride over here, free of charge. Pau- Roger and I hit it off, he gave it to me for free. You know, when he wasn't spiraling towards his doom, that is."

"I knew that was a bad idea! You should've gone to someone with medical expertise." I approached him. "Take off your jacket."

He started to do as I asked. "If I went to someone with medical expertise, I would've gotten shot. I'm one of those Anarchist Sympathizers, remember?" His shirt was absolutely blood soaked, and where it wasn't soaked, it was covered in dirt.

I gasped. "Did you even bandage the wound?"

"Of course I did. Not well, but I did." He shrugged his shoulders, but grimaced visibly as he did so.

I rolled my eyes at him. "I'll keep my eye out for a first aid kit. Try and stay out of trouble next time, okay?"

"If you say so, miss needy."

"How am _I _the needy one here? You're the one who just got shot." I put my finger on his chest and frowned at him. "I'm only nagging at you because I care."

He smiled slightly. "Thanks for caring, then. That's a first." He stretched his good arm over his back and reached into his pocket, spinning Sally around his finger. "Well, Booker, we've got a bit of a problem."

"And what would that be?" Booker took a few steps forward and scratched his chin.

" The gondola isn't working. Runs on that Shock Jockey stuff, a load of which just burst. I knew because my ship was docked and a-waitin', till the release let up and it dropped out of the sky. We're going to need another load of the stuff to get the regular lines working."

"And where are we going to find that?" asked Booker, clearly frustrated.

Will pointed to a poster, plastered onto some wall. "Way ahead of you. 'Come see the future of power at the Hall of Heroes.' We can find one of the vigors there, and use it to power all the gondolas and whatever else we might come across on the way."

"That'll have to do. Got anything else you want to do, little ladies?" asked Booker.

"Maybe we could ride the carousel?" I asked.

"That'd upset our stomachs with all the snacks we just ate, and I think we've already had plenty of movement on the rides."

Will blinked several times. "When you three are out on a night on the town, you get ice cream, ride flying carousels and eat all the food your stomachs can hold. And when I'm out on a night on the town, I either get shot, busted, broken, or beaten. That makes sense, I guess."

Lucy elbowed him. "I'd get you something, but you're just too annoying for that. Make yourself useful." She handed him my Songbird doll, which he begrudgingly accepted after hiding Lucy in his coat pocket.

"Fine, but next time, could you at least tell me before you do anything fun? I could use some fun right about now."

Before we could even answer, a voice started echoing throughout the boardwalk. "The False Shepard is loose in the streets of our fair city!"

"Well, looks like we've got our work cut out for us. The Police'll be by any second now. Get ready, you all."

I frowned at Will once again. "Don't go and get yourself shot again! Let Booker do his share of the work this time. You've done enough."

"Haven't you cared enough for one day?" He winked at me and turned away, making his way towards the Hall of Heroes.

"Lucy?" I asked.

"Yes?"

"Is he usually that annoying?"

"As far as I can tell, yes."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Sorry for the later-than-usual update! My internet has been on the fritz, but either way, enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Nine: The Hall

Booker's Perspective.

_God, I need to get me a new hobby._

We were on the skylines, making our way towards the Hall of Heroes. All the gondola access was cut off, so that was our only remaining option. We didn't have time to wait, anyways; the police and a man named Cornelius Slate were standing off inside the Hall of Heroes, and that was where our Shock Jockey was waiting for us. Either way, that didn't mean I was any happier about the situation. I could be on an airship to New York right now, makin' sweet on the deal, but every issue that could come up decided to make my life miserable.

_It could be a lot worse, though. I could be Will._

Speaking of Will, I turned around to look at him. He had to hold onto his Sky-hook with his other hand to make sure he didn't hurt his shoulder too much, meaning he was always pulling himself up to avoid any pain. His injuries were pretty terrible, from what I'd seen. He could hardly shoot a gun from what I'd seen, and we had to cover for him in combat. He said if he can find a rifle, he can shoot it with the 'other shoulder', whatever that means. Either way, his life was hell right about now. At least I was still in good shape.

After a minute or two, I sucked myself out of thought long enough to notice that we were approaching the Hall of Heroes. I ejected from the Skyline and landed feet first, staggering forwards a bit as I did so. The boardwalk was completely ruined; bullet holes were strewn about walls, cover, and corpses alike, and speaking of corpses, there wasn't anywhere I could look where there wasn't blood or someone dead. The signs of a struggle were absolutely obvious, and it was pretty clear who was winning. For the most part, most of the corpses were dead. _Slate's just as good as he was down there, I see. _

Everyone else fell off the railing behind me. Will moaned rather audibly. "Okay, so what's the plan?"

I wasn't so sure myself. "Well, if Slate and his men have been giving the Founders such a problem, I doubt they've even gotten inside the Hall. We might be able to use that fact to our advantage; the founders could thin Slate's ranks."

Lucy chimed in. "As much as I'd like that, I can't say for sure that that'll be the case. Even if the Founders are religious fanatics and obsessed with bringing Slate down, they're not idiots. They'll take breaks and eventually go to extreme methods to get inside there, like demolition or political things. We might as well just get in there as soon as possible instead of waiting for things that might not come."

I blinked several times. "Lucy, that's . . . pretty true, I guess. Who made you a strategist?"

She winked at me. "Technology's not all that I'm good at, you know. I can think with the best of them."

Elizabeth clapped her hands. "Wait, if Lucy's so great with machines, why don't we just have her fix the gondolas by hand?"

"Eh, I'm a mechanic, not an electrician. Either way, I can't just make electricity pop out of thin air. We'd still need the Shock Jockey stuff to create the power."

Will snapped his fingers and walked over to the wall in front of us. He bent over and picked something up, which I later saw was a sniper rifle. "Jackpot."

Elizabeth crossed her arms and bit her lip. "Isn't that thing going to fire with more force than your hand canno-"

"Sally." Will's tone was frightfully serious.

". . . Why can't we just call it a hand cannon? That's what it is."

"_She_ is Sally.'

Elizabeth sighed and admitted defeat. "Isn't that thing going to fire with more force than _Sally?_" She threw her hands up when she said Sally.

"But I can absorb the blow in my right shoulder and still aim well enough to get something done. It should work just well enough."

I sighed. "It'll have to do." We started to head towards the hall.

"So just who is this Slate man?" asked Lucy.

"Slate? I actually knew the guy. Seems he still has a knack for making enemies."

Will laughed coarsely. "He's some sort of military legend down below. Not that I'd expect you two to know."

"I should've come across him in a couple of books," said Elizabeth.

"Maybe they just haven't updated your stock yet. It's kind of recent."

"I guess that could be true.

We ascended the stairs to the Hall of Heroes, or what used to be it. Where the angel of Columbia had once been petrified in stone stood a desecrated statue, with "HALL OF WHORES" scrawled beneath it in read paint, where the letters couldn't be rearranged. Around this statue, what was once a beautiful pavilion was now a littered, destroyed park. The trees were scorched, the grass was blood soaked, and absolutely everything was ruined. The stairways upwards led to walls of crates - cover, - and more statues - more cover- which were sure to come in handy.

"That's disgusting. Pigs." Lucy kicked a rock to the side.

Will suddenly raised his rifle to eye level, looking through the scope. "Sniper on the rooftops. I'll take care of him." Not even a second afterwards, he'd pulled the trigger. "Done."

That gunshot was sure to draw attention, though. I pulled my shotgun off my shoulder. "Girls, get to cover. Will, I want you to watch the doorway and make sure too many folks don't get out. Moving, at least. I'll handle whoever's left." I loaded in all the slugs that would fit.

"Got it, cap'n." Will took cover behind the giant statue of whores, while Elizabeth and Lucy crouched a few feet back behind some crates. With luck, they would go unnoticed.

A few seconds later, the doors burst open and out poured eleven or so soldiers. Most of them were bald and had varying amounts of facial hair. Their dress consisted of standard American infantry uniforms, which were decorated with flags wrapped around their shoulders.

Before they had even established their position, the head of one of the men in front exploded. That startled 'em. They were all splattered with the blood of their companion. _Now's as good a time as any. _It was time to try out Bucking Bronco. At first I wondered how I would do it, but after a minute it felt as natural as breathing. I sent out a shock wave with a thrust of my hand, lifting all the men that remained on the stairs. They all started spiraling about. I sprinted forwards and loaded some shots into the cloud of soldiers, causing four of them to fall, already dead.

Soon they fell and got their footing once again, taking up strategic positions. "Ladies, mind if I borrow a crate?" I heard Will shout from behind me.

"What?" I shouted, over the gun shots.

Obviously, he got his answer. As I popped out of cover to get a few shots in, I saw something I never thought I'd see; A crate, wrapped in a tendril of water, hurled towards a pair of soldiers. I turned back to see him sprouting water from his hands and shooting people with it, sending them into walls, piles of crates, and in some instances, off the city. It only took him a few seconds to clear the rest of them out in a torrent of water, while I stared at him with my mouth open wide.

He grinned at me and ran forwards. "What? I picked up a souvenir from Frank and his friends." The girls ran up next.

"Are you two okay?" asked Lucy.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks to Mr. Water-Hands over here." I sent a jab towards Will's shoulder.

He grunted slightly. "That's the bad one."

". . . Right. Sorry, pal."

"Not a big deal."

"Alright, you two, if it's all the same to you, we've got business to attend to." Elizabeth started to run ahead of us.

"She's almost too enthusiastic." Lucy smiled and gestured ahead. "Shall we go on, Booker?"

I smiled back. "Let's."

"Sure, ignore me. Not like I did anything."

"Shut up, Will." We both spoke at the same time.

"Right, then."

We entered the dimly lit Hall of Heroes. The opening hall was much like the inside of the buildings you see in old paintings; the walls, draped in red and blue curtains where they weren't painted bright blue, decorated with flag poles all around. The only difference was this room was completely trashed; desks were set up as cover, and in the center of the room there was a giant, mechanical George Washington. The post said "Automated Patriot".

Elizabeth pulled the lever on the display. It spoke, with a booming voice that was supposed to model George Washington's, "Too rare is the man who takes a stand, for God and sweetest fatherland! But here is the place where we revere, the heroes of our city dear."

"If that thing rhymes one more time, I'm going to shoot its head off." Will aimed down the scope at the patriotic display.

"Calm down, Will, it's not like George Washington did anything to you." Elizabeth giggled at his comment, misinterpreting the message.

"I don't think it was supposed to be a joke," I said.

"It was funny regardless." She laughed again.

"Aren't I just a card?" Will laughed sarcastically and started leading the way forwards, his eye glued to the scope.

The hall and its abundance of patriotic themes were almost a little creepy. When it wasn't a giant sculpture or painting of something ominous, it was something equally as bad; perfect scenes that were just a bit too perfect. Lucy and I went inside one of the ticket salesmen's booths to find one of those little voice recorder things: "Voxophones," they called them. Lucy smiled and walked forwards to press the "play" button. It began to play like a record player, but it recorded someone's voice. Slate's more specifically; I'd recognize his anywhere, any time.

"They'll call us assassins when our work is done: Cornelius Slate, the swift left hook of the Vox Populi! They'll be trading Comstock's lie for another. So be it. The Fitzroy woman and I are comrades of necessity. I doubt the men who reddened Caeser's toga would be seen breaking bread together in peacetime. With Comstock gone, my men's deeds will be sacred - and they will claim the spoils due them. I need not live to see it." The recording ended after that.

"Wow. This Cornelius Slate guy is sort of a downer. He works for the Vox?" Lucy sighed and placed her hand on her hip.

"Eh, the guy's always been great at getting in trouble. Guess he knew how to pick it out in Columbia, too."

Just a second later, we heard a gunshot. It sounded like Will got the first one in. Elizabeth shrieked; no doubt saw the gore from the aftermath of his shot. I cursed his accuracy. _I don't need her scarred for life when she gets out of here. _

"Come on, we need to get out there." I grabbed Lucy's hand and led her to a spot underneath a desk. "Stay there, I'll be back in a bit. Hopefully, those two didn't get into too much trouble."

She nodded obediently and crouched to hide. I held my shotgun firmly, prepared to load lead into the next person who turned the corner. I slowly approached it, ready at all times to ki-

Just a second later, a lead pipe connected with my forehead and knocked me to the side, dazed. I staggered backwards against the wall, struggling to see anything. All I could see was a dazed image of someone approaching me, and a tinny voice. "Heh, nice job with that shotgun there, bucko. You almost scared me. You s'posed to be the soldier Slate told us was comin'?" He laughed coarsely. "Don't make me la-"

Just a second later, he collapsed to the ground, and behind him was Lucy with a large, silver pipe from one of the displays. The back of his head had been bloodied, but by the distinct moans and groans, he was definitely unconscious.

"You. . . You just saved my life, quite possibly."

She giggled and wrested the pipe on her shoulder, trying to look tough. "Gee, no problem. That man rubbed me the wrong way." She held her hand out to me and smiled. "Come on, I don't bite."

"But you hit people with pipes, evidently." I took her hand and pulled myself up.

"It was necessary. I try to refrain from it, if possible. He's not dead, is he? I'd be horrified if he was dead."

"Nah, he's still breathing." I nudged the unconscious soldier with my boot, sighing. "I guess I owe ya' now, huh. Just for the record, I've always been bad with debts."

She laughed. "Don't worry, no pay necessary. We wouldn't have even gotten this far if not for you, so we're even." She extended her hand for a shake. "Even?"

I accepted it. "Even."

"Now let's go see what the Suited Spelunker and Elizabeth got themselves into."

"Suited Spelunker?" I smiled wryly.

"Eh, I dunno'. It fit." She returned the smile. I could get used to having someone like this around. _Then again, she's on her way to Paris. I'm gonna' have to reveal it eventually. . . Wonder what she and Will'll do once they find out I'm off to New York. Speaking of which, we need to find out what he's up to. . ._


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: The Past

Lucy's Perspective.

After I so valiantly saved Booker from his demise at the hands of a brute with a pipe, we started making our way deeper into the Hall of Heroes.

"Where the hell did Elizabeth wind up? I need her, you know." Booker sighed and lowered his shotgun.

"I don't know. This hall is the only way onward." I hefted the pipe back over my shoulder, sighing. "They should be around here."

He sighed as well, before we busted into a grand hall with a giant statue of Comstock in the middle, bathed in some golden light. Across the walls, there were portraits - full body or otherwise - of other American heroes, all of which were coated in paint, be it an insult or "Tin Man" we've been seeing so much.

Will and Elizabeth stood next to the statue, observing the exhibits nearby with intrigue. "Our Prophet, Father Comstock, Commander of the 7th Cavalry."

"That man did not lead the seventh," said Booker, with disgust. "Hell, I don't even remember the guy."

A loud, booming voice resonated through the hall. "Corporal DeWitt proved his worth on the field that day."

I heard Booker mutter something under his breath, though I couldn't tell what. "Slate? Is that you?"

"You've always been different, haven't you, Booker? You crave no glory." Slate spoke silently, but the intercom system made up for that.

"This a friend of yours, DeWitt?" Will hefted his rifle over his shoulder, staring up into the light and shading his eyes with his hand.

Booker raised a finger towards Will, asking for silence. "Look, I can see your caught up in some kind of jam here."

I chimed in next. "Can we just get through to the Shock Jo-"

I was interrupted by the voice on the intercom. "That tin soldier, Comstock, wants my boys dead. We won't die by his hands!"

Will slammed his palm into his face. "Oh, brother, this isn't on any road to go well. . ."

Elizabeth glanced at him and tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

Slate answered her question for her. "All my men have left is a choice; die at the hands of a tin man, or a real one!"

Not even a moment later, the doors slammed open and in came more of the patriotic soldiers we encountered earlier. "Elizabeth, Luc', get behind cover!" Will shouted.

I did as he instructed, but made sure to keep an eye on the action. Will dropped his rifle to the side and pulled out the knife he had borrowed earlier. Booker, on the other hand, started shooting what looked like balls of fire out of his palm when he wasn't shooting lead slugs into the group. I looked towards Elizabeth, whose face was a curtain of worry. "Don't fret, Elizabeth, those two'll be fine."

She nodded her head slowly, and I looked back towards the boys. They were making short work of these soldiers; some fell to the ground with clean cuts across their necks or chests, while others fell as burned and dismembered corpses. Booker aimed down the sights of his shotgun and pulled the trigger, and with that, the fight was over.

"You see! You're a killer, Booker, like it or not!" Slate's voice boomed across the PA system.

"Yeah, ignore what I did." Will raised his hand.

"Oh, don't worry, boy, you'll get your turn for praise." Slate laughed coarsely.

"Just give us the Shock Jockey!" Booker's voice dripped with irritation.

"If you want the vigor, Booker, you will give my men a soldier's death."

I groaned audibly. "Look, mister, we don't want any trouble! What would it take for us to just get the vigor?"

"A soldier's death." He inhaled deeply. "They wait for you in Wounded Knee and Peking."

The doors at the end of the hall opened, revealing the rest of the exhibits. "No point in dwelling here." Will walked on ahead of the rest of us after retrieving his rifle. Booker stayed to the back, looking worried.

"Booker, are you alright?" I slowed down to match his pace and stood beside him as we entered the large, circular room.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's nothing." He took several steps forward, looking at the exhibits on either side. "Wounded Knee or Peking. Which one's first?"

Elizabeth raised her hand, offering a suggestion. "I say we go to Wounded Knee first,"

"Then that's what we'll do. Come along, everyone." Will made his way into the exhibit, the rest of us trailing behind.

As we entered the exhibit, Slate's voice came over the PA again. "The tin soldier has taken credit for the deeds of the real one. Now, your friend there, young misses-"

"- and me," said Will,

"- he wrapped himself in glory on December 29th, 1890."

"Or not me."

"What does he mean?" asked Elizabeth. I had a faint idea, though. . .

"You don't wanna' know," was his only reply.

The exhibited consisted mostly of wooden cutouts of grass and Native Americans bobbing around, flaming arrows trained on invisible targets across the room. Each one was similar to the one next to it, all with glowing red eyes that shone throughout the room. The eyes were also placed in the grass, to make it look like they were plotting an ambush at all times. As we progressed, spotlights were trained on a statue; a woman on her knees, and two Natives with hatchets raised, preparing to make their kill. I shook visibly. Even if it was just a statue, it was frightening to think about.

The next, and probably most horrifying statue, was one of a Native warrior with the scalp of his latest victim in his hands, hatchet red with blood. Or so I imagined it. Behind the statue was a pair of double doors. I braced myself for whatever horrors might await, but behind the door was only one of those motorized George Washington mannequins. Elizabeth pulled the lever to activate the exhibit, intrigued.

"With hue and cry, with hatchet red, they danced amongst our noble dead!"

Will hit his face with his palm again. "Please tell me this one doesn't rhyme, too. . ." Elizabeth giggled at his remark.

"But when our soldiers took the field, the savage hoard could only yield." The exhibit returned to its original pose.

"It rhymed again," said Booker, before we advanced into the next room.

This one was an exhibit modeled to imitate a large field, with grassy structures strewn about. The sky was red, painted beautifully, and in the middle was the standard statue of Comstock that I was getting so used to seeing. _Now I see what a group of fanatics this place really is._ But Booker was reacting strangely. He was sweating visibly, closing his eyes at certain parts of the display, and generally having a bad time.

"You were there. At Wounded Knee. I can see it in your face." Elizabeth stared at Booker, with both intrigue and confusion.

"Tell them, Booker!" Slate's voice boomed. "Tell them how we strode that battlefield like the heroes of Sparta!"

"Booker, in a gladiator's uniform? I'd pay to see that." Will smirked.

"I can still hear the screams," shouted Slate. "Does Comstock?" With that, roars from men came up on all sides of us. On closer examination, Slate's men were charging at us. Booker clenched one of those flaming grenades in his hand, while Will looked for some high ground to get some good shots in from. There was no cover for me and Elizabeth to make use of, so we just stood behind Will, clasping our hands nervously. "Here is the soldier I spoke of!" Slate screamed. "The kind of man Comstock pretends to be! Let's see if I told you true!"

Booker hurled grenades at the advancing forces, until his hand couldn't create anymore. Then it was back to the shotgun. Gradually, they pushed Booker further and further towards us. Will alternated between shooting with the rifle and slamming people into walls with water. Occasionally he'd wrap them up, draw them towards him and stab them with the knife he borrowed earlier. It was an effective method. Soon, all the regular foot soldiers had cleared out.

Elizabeth and I panted heavily, relieved that it was over. I began to step forward, before I realized a . . . cloud of crows, had just appeared behind Will. Inside the cloud was . . . one of those "Order of the Raven" folks. He was dressed in one of the black, highly ornate robes, with one of the large coffins on his back, an image of Lady Comstock engraved on the back. But what was more interesting was that he had a sword. . . _Oh no. _

Time seemed to slow down as the raven swung the blunt side of his sword towards the side of Will's head. A resounding thud resonated through the room, knocking him to his back. He stared up at his assailant, all weapons out of reach or otherwise not effective. The man grasped the holy sword with both hands and prepared to drive it through Will's chest, but. . .

"Get away from him!" Elizabeth shrieked, before tackling him from behind. She brought him to the ground and started to slam his head into the ground. "Booker, shoot him!" She hopped off of him, and Booker loaded lead into his body.

"He's dead." Booker lowered his gun.

Will shook his head, dazed. "Did I just get run over by a freight train or something?. ." He grabbed the side of his head. "Damn, that hurts. . ." He stared at Elizabeth, obviously shocked by the fact that Elizabeth had just saved his life in that manner.

I helped him up off the ground. "You just got attacked by one of those Crow people. Fortunately for you, before he could drive a sword into your chest, Elizabeth valiantly saved you."

"Really?" He grabbed the back of his head, gritting his teeth. "Thanks. I appreciate it a lot more than you know. I'm rather fond of breathing."

She blushed and giggled a little. "You would have done the same for me, had it come to that."

"Hopefully, it never does." Will smiled at her and approached the body of the soldier who had just nearly cost him his life. "Anything on this guy that could be useful?" He leaned over and rifled through his pockets, eventually pulling out a vigor. "Murder of Crows. Huh."

Booker chimed in. "I had one of those off these guys before. The vigor packs a punch."

Will grinned. "Might as well drink it, then." He downed the contents of the bottle and proceeded to stare at his hands for a moment, as if something fascinating was on them.

"Those vigor things scare me," I said. "You both stare at your hands and scream after you drink them." Booker nudged corpses on the floor, looking distant. ". . . Booker? Are you okay?"

Elizabeth patted my shoulder. "He's probably just back with some painful memories right now."

Slate's voice came across the PA again. "Do you see these two, young ladies? The men that Comstock wishes he could be!"

Booker groaned. "I don't want to do this, Slate! Just give me what I need."

Slate laughed dryly. "I will. After you do the same for me. Come and look for me among the Boxers."

Elizabeth tilted her head. "Who are the Boxers?"

"The Chinese. He wants us to head to the other display.

"Do you hear Comstock's tin men, coming to silence us?" shouted Slate. "But we are the true patriots! The history doesn't fit in their books." With that, Slate left us in the room, alone.

"We might as well be heading back. The Boxers are waiting for us." Booker lead us back through the exhibit, and towards the Boxers.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: The Friend

Elizabeth's Perspective.

Will and I trailed behind Lucy and Booker, who scouted on ahead. He rested his hands behind his head and kept his rifle slung over his shoulder, nonchalantly pacing forwards. We were back in the Wounded Knee exhibit, walking among the Native Americans crouched in the grass and the statues of brutes murdering innocents. _I hope the other exhibit is better than this. . . _

"So how do you feel about how chummy those two are getting?" asked Will.

"That's sort of sudden. What's wrong with becoming friends with someone you work with?" I placed a finger on my lip and stared at him, but he kept his head down.

"That's not quite what I meant." He turned to face me, and raised a finger. "It's how chummy one of them is getting, and how not chummy the other one is."

"What could you possibly mean by that?"

"Believe it or not, Lucy's fascinated by Booker. His past, and all that other stuff, allure her. So she's trying to get to know him better. But, as for Booker, he's doing his best to distance himself from her." He made it sound so matter-of-fact.

"Isn't he doing that to all of us?"

"Well, he's doing it to all of us, but he seems particularly afraid of getting close to her. It's like he wants to, but he can't, so he avoids it."

"Okay, I haven't noticed any of this stuff. When did you get so observative?"

"Sometimes he slips into cheerful conversation with her, but then he's just as distant as he was a few seconds ago. But with us, he's either consistantly distant or consistantly cheerful. Get it?"

I blinked repeatedly. "I guess that is right. . . But why should I care? I just want to get off of this city."

He shrugged. "I didn't say you had to care. None of us have to be friends here. It helps our performance, but it's not required."

". . . So are we friends?"

He shrugged again. "I'd like to say so, but I think it's up to you. I mean, I'd have a sword through my chest right now if you hadn't been around, so that helps."

I laughed lightly. "I think we are."

"Great," said Will, with a wry smile. "So how do you feel?"

"About what?" I asked.

"About this whole situation. Us fighting our way through Columbia, diving to hell and back just to get off the place. I can't imagine it's much fun for you, especially with all the . . . you know."

I did know. Blood. Death. I didn't like any of it. "I don't really like it, but I know we don't have any choice. . . And this is a lot better than my tower."

"I guess that's right." We passed by the statue of the Native Americans killing the woman once more. "I just wasn't sure if it'd have anything to do with the way you thought about the rest of us. You and Lucy are alright, but Booker and I are the kind of sort people like you shouldn't really get involved with. I almost feel bad for getting you wrapped up in this."

I elbowed him. "You're starting to sound like Booker. You seem like a good enough person, you just got wrapped up in the wrong sort of thing. Besides, you've been doing all this to protect us and get us off of here, right? You're not that bad."

He smiled slightly. "I'm not so sure that won't change at some point. We might be getting ourselves into more trouble than we can handle."

"We're almost out, aren't we? We get the Shock Jockey, then we leave. Then everything will be fine and we'll get to go to Paris."

"What are your plans once you're in Paris, anyways? You really going to stick around with Booker and I? Hell, I might not even be staying there once we arrive. I'm an escort, nothing more."

"So you'll be leaving?" I bit my lip and clasped my hands behind my back.

"Yeah, probably. There's not a problem with that, is there?" He smiled.

"Oh. . . Not really." I tried to hide the disappointment on my face. _I didn't realize that this adventure might be the only thing I get to do with these people before we all head our seperate ways. That's a little upsetting. . ._

We caught up to the others as we finished our conversation. "About time you two caught up." Booker gestured towards the exhibit for The Boxer Rebellion. "Let's get a move on, we've got to make up for lost ground."

So far, the exhibit didn't seem that much better. The exhibit replicated a snowy environment, with cutouts resembling Chinese men popping out from behind mountains. Buildings that I'd seen in books of all kinds were built in the main hall, and a large, spiritual gate I'd read about in a book about Shintoism was the door into the next part of the exhibit. "What's this?" I asked.

"It's the Boxer Rebellion," replied Booker.

"What happened there?"

Slate's now-familiar voice resonated through the hall. "In Peking? It was my hand that put the city to the torch. Of course, that's not how Comstock tells it." His tone was bitter and furious. We moved to walk through the gate, but one of the large Chinese cutout men popped down from the ceiling. I jumped back and placed my hands on Will's shoulders, using him as cover.

Will, and everyone else, started to laugh at my expense. I walked out from behind him, hoping no one caught wind of my blush. "What's everyone staring at?"

"Nothing."

Behind the gate was a giant gong, with a mallet next to it. Booker slammed his fist into it. "Ya' hear me, Slate? We could settle this right now if you just came out and gave us the Shock Jockey!"

"Oh, I hear you, Booker. But it's not up for debate. You might as well give up and give me what I want."

Booekr sighed and continued onwards. Paper flames licked the walls, and as we progressed, spotlights flickered on and off. A stone depiction of a Chinese warrior cutting off the heads of innocent women was the primary attraction.

"Hey, come take a look at this. . ." Will beckoned us over to the "Emplyees Only" door. He opened the door, and inside was what appeared to be an abandoned exhibit that was used as storage for now. The wood in the floors was splintered and broken, and trash was left strewn about. But that wasn't the interesting part; giant statues of Slate - or, the podiums of what used to be giant statues of Slate. Paintings with him burning towns and killing soldiers rested on the walls, never seen by the visitors of the hall. "An entire exhibit that was supposed to be about Slate. Neat, huh?"

"Wow. . . No wonder he's so spiteful about the whole thing. He probably found this." Lucy crossed her arms and kicked some Slate pebbles aside.

I stared at one of the paintings; Slate, a pistol raised, with the image of a burning town assembled behind him in an array of bright, flaming colors. The sky reflected the faces of dying Chinese people. "So this is how it happened?"

"Slate was in charge of the troops at Peking. He did this," said Will. "But no one spoke of it up here, it would appear. Comstock's lies, of course. No one up here was down there when it happened, so no one would know. And anyone who does know was probably taken care of by Comstock."

"He has the right to be upset, then. I almost feel bad for him," I said.

"Almost?" asked Lucy. "I do feel bad for him. He's been cheated up here, and now, just like us, he can't get out, and worse, he has to deal with everything he's ever amounted to being taken from him. It's sad."

"I guess so. . ." I said.

"We should keep going." Booker pushed his way back outside, always keeping his shotgun raised.

We walked into another room with one of the patriotic George Washington displays.

"If this one rhymes, I promise you, I'll shoot it." Will clenched his rifle in his hand and pointed it at the display's head.

It began to speak after I pulled the lever. "'Twas yellow skin and slanted eyes that did betray us with their lies."

Will shot it.

The rest of its speech was distorted. "Until they crossed the righteous path of Our Prophet's holy wrath."

"Told you I'd shoot it." He smiled and raised his gun over his shoulder.

The next room we entered looked like a frozen battlefield. Where there weren't groups of wooden soldiers, there were buildings or structures, and on the far wall was a painting of Columbia coming out of a heavenly light. In the middle of the room, there was a statue of Comstock pointing a pistol into nothingness, wrapped in an American flag.

"Oh, I've read about this," I said. "Comstock led the Columbian troops to Peking and-"

It looks like I just put on the straw that broke the camel's back. Slate shouted with ferocity, "Comstock wasn't there! The Boxers took my eye and thirty of my friends! Is there even a stone to mark that sacrifice?"

As he spoke, men wielding clubs and shotguns jumped down from the walls, screaming battlecries. "Goddamnit, why does everyone have to fight in close quarters?" Will tossed his rifle aside and grabbed his knife.

"I'll keep an eye out for something you can use!" I shouted.

Booker and Will started using those "vigor" things. Will sent out a flock - or "murder", technically - of crows that started ot bite off the flesh of their victims. Booker threw one of his flaming grenades, which ignited the birds. Contrary to what one might think, it didn't kill the crows; it let their wings on fire and escorted the soldiers to their deaths. Those that didn't get their throats pecked out by the crows got burned to death by the fire.

"That was pretty simple. . ." I sighed with relief.

But it's never that easy. From one of the Shinto shacks along the walls dropped one of those Firemen that made use of the Devil's Kiss vigor. It hurled the flaming grenades towards Booker, hoping to catch him off guard. One struck his shoulder, but the magnetic field he'd been given reflected it easily. It skitted to the side and exploded a few feet to his left, leaving a fire open on the ground. "Will!" shouted Booker, "Use that Undertow thing!"

Booker used his Bucking Bronco, and Will blasted the fireman with Undertow. As it fell to the ground, its flamed doused, Booker approached it and held the shotgun to its head, and loaded lead into his opponent's skull. His visor exploded, leaving his head decimated underneath it. The once beautiful snow field was now coated with blood, like the battle probably looked back then. Dust to dust, they say; blood to blood.

"Alright, ladies, it's safe to come out now," he shouted.

"You two men did them a favor. You let them die like men. Scared and suffering men, albiet, but soldiers nonetheless." Slate spoke with gratitude, even if it was misplaced.

"Look, Slate, I didn't ask for this!" said Booker. "I have no quarrel with these men!"

"Heroes never ask, Booker."

This riled him up. "I never claimed to be no hero-"

"Then what are you?" Slate's tone was condescending and disapproving. "If you take away all the parts of Booker DeWitt that you tried to erase, then what's left? Come back to the rotunda. It's almost over." The PA shut off abruptly.

Booker groaned and kicked the ground. "This is taking too long."

"Booker. . ." I said. "What did he mean? What did you try to erase?"

"Now that you're out of yours, you might realize that cages have their advantages."

"A choice is bteter than none, Mr. DeWitt."

"Yeah? And what if you woke up one day and realized you didn't like what you chose?"

"It's a little too late to fix that. All you can do is strive to make the future better," said Lucy. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

Will remained silent, staring at the ground in front of him, as if thinking about something. "Will?" I asked.

"Huh?" he said, snapping back into reality. "Yeah, I'm fine. Let's keep going. . ."

"Just feel fine to talk about whatever you need to say, Booker."

"We've got too little time to talk. Let's get a move on." The rest of our walk was had in silence.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: The Lamb

Elizabeth's Perspective.

We came back into the room where we had been, with the timeline of Columbia in it. The lights flicked on at the back of the room, revealing an exhibit called "The First Lady." Above the door was a portrait of Lady Comstock, staring condescendingly at everyone who entered.

Slate, once again, came over the intercom system to talk to us. "I've got what you need, Booker. You will find me past the First Lady's memorial."

I smiled slightly. "I've read lots of things about the First Lady. Lady Comstock supposedly did a lot for - or against - the city."

Will rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't suppose Comstock will have anything but the holiest of opinions about her. We probably won't see anything bad in there."

I laughed dryly. "Yeah, but maybe we can laugh at the irony behind it all."

"Guess that'd work." With that, we entered the Memorial.

As we came inside, we noticed all of the scenery. No expense spared, quite clearly; I couldn't even imagine the bill. The walls were painted with exquisite orange and brown patterns. On the far wall, we saw a massive full-body portrait of Lady Comstock. "Say what you want about Lady Comstock," I said, "the woman had an eye for fashion."

Lucy nodded slowly. "It's not quite my taste, but I guess you could say that."

Will tilted his head. "I still don't think she looks as nice as me."

That managed to get a laugh out of everyone; even Booker, which was rather shocking. "Don't worry, Will," I said, "your confidence isn't misplaced."

"I would hope not. This suit cost a lot of money." After a quick laugh from everyone, we continued on our way, regaining our aura of seriousness.

As we progressed onwards, we heard Slate's disembodied voice say: "You've seen what Comstock's done to my history. Now see how he's rewritten his own."

We turned to either side to see fountains; angels crying the water that filled them, out of regret for the loss of our fair lady. This exhibit obviously had a much higher budget than the other ones; the ceiling glowed as if the sun was setting, painting it in vibrant pink and orange colors. The walls were exquisitely painted scenes of courtyards and forests; trees were grown outside of the pathways. There were statues of the woman known as Lady Comstock everywhere. Water from the fountains flowed over the tiles beneath us, the tiles themselves being hand-sculpted masterpieces on their own. "This is pretty amazing. . ." I said.

"Probably lies, all of it," said Booker. "I doubt it's more anything but a convenient lie for Comstock to tell to make everyone think of him as the holy figure he claims to be."

"Still, he knows a strange amount of information. Didn't he know everything there was to know about you, Booker?" asked Lucy.

"That's just information on a page," said Will, snickering. "Trust me, if it exists, you can get your hands on it. I'd know; it was my job for a while."

_Oh, right. He was an informant for a while, wasn't he? I wonder how that part of his past went. I have to ask once I get to Paris. _

In the next room, their was a statue of the woman - Lady Comstock, - holding a baby wrapped in a blue blanket, both being pulled in some kind of chariot. There were plaques with golden font on them beneath it, which I began to read.

"The seed of the prophet lay in the womb of our Lady but for a single week." I clasped my hands. "Comstock had a child. . . My books never said anything about a child."

"That's quite the omission. I can't imagine that was by accident," said Booker.

I read the other plaque aloud. "But the child took ill, and our Lady prayed for the Prophet's heir day and night."

Will whistled from behind me. "Is it just me, or is this exhibit even creepier than the ones about scalping people and removing their heads?"

Lucy joined in. "I have to agree with him. This is almost . . . ominously perfect."

I wrapped my arms around my chest. "Let's just . . . keep going." I had a bad feeling about this. . .

We opened the doors to the next room. In front of us was . . . Comstock, on a bridge, carrying the same child as he had earlier. It was still wrapped in the blue blanket. He was carrying her towards. . . "That's my tower."

"Lo!" The Comstock statue shouted. "While Daisy Fitzroy murdered my beloved, she shall not have my child! She shall not come betwixt her and prophecy!" The voice grew distorted and strange. "The seed of the prophet will sit the throne, and drown in flames the mountains of man!"

_No. . . That can't be. . . I'm. . ._

"You're Comstock's daughter." Booker blatantly stated the obvious.

"No, I can't be! That can't be!"

He continued. "He wants you to follow in his footsteps."

"Yeah, and I want a puppy, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna' get one!" I shouted furiously and began to walk through the lily pond under the bridge.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'll get you a puppy." Will. . .

I stormed off even faster, now. The only thing I heard from behind was Lucy saying, "Will, you didn't handle that right at all."

_I'm Comstock's daughter. He locked me up in that tower for all my life, imprisoned me with that Songbird, and now I'm trying to escape from him and helping people kill his men? Is he a bad father, or am I a bad daughter? And how did I not know about this? You'd think it was at least something to mention. . . Ugh, that just rubs me the wrong way . . . To think that that Prophet I've heard so much about is my father and I never even knew? I just. . . I won't believe it. There has to be some other kind of explanation._

Eventually, they all went fast enough to catch up to me. We were in the room about Daisy Fitzroy assassinating Lady Comstock. In the first room there was a statue of her, calling her an "anarchist" and showing her with a red band stretched between her hands. Lady Comstock stood in the middle of the next one, surrounded by candles and crouched in a praying position.

"So this is about her death. . ." I said.

"Sounds like this Fitzroy woman took her out. Lucy, didn't we hear an audio recording about her earlier?" asked Booker.

"Something about her and Slate being 'comrades of necessity' and whatnot." She shrugged. "Can't see how that helps us now."

Will stayed silent, and I can't say I had any problem with that for the time being.

In the next segment of the room was a giant, three-layer fountain, pouring out torrents of water like the tears of Lady Comstock's subjects. Then, there was the next room: Comstock, bearer of the sword, standing on top of an ornate bridge that was supposed to resemble part of the Comstock House. I hadn't seen much of it, but I could tell it from the familiar painting. I'd seen it at least a thousand times. Comstock was silhouetted by the moon and chasing the group of anarchists, the Vox Populi, off of a roof and into a lake of what was supposed to resemble boiling lava.

"No point in staying here. This is the end of the First Lady's memorial, which means Slate is on the other side of these doors. Let's get a move on."

In front of us was a fence, which led into a giant, open part of the Hall of Heroes. It was designed to resemble the buildings in Washington D.C., down below, because our founding fathers were such "heroes", in Comstock's eyes. Apart from the walls, down below, there were little rectangular gardens strewn about the marble floors. The tiles were whitish-blue in hue, reflecting the moon and the stars. It would've been gorgeous if all the walls hadn't been painted and there weren't automated defenses and sandbag walls assembled everywhere.

The gate was shut up tight. "I can get in between these bars, and Lucy should be able too as well, but you're too broad. I'll scout on ahead and see if there's any way to get you through."

"Alright then." He scratched the back of his head, taking a seat next to one of the pillars.

I looked around for anything at all that might help us get through, until something in particular caught my attention. From the looks of it, it was. . .

"Look!" I pointed into the sky, staring at the tear in front of me. It always felt so natural when I saw them; I hoped it felt that way for other people, too.

"Is that?. . ." Lucy and Booker spoke simultaneously.

"It's a tear. Something I can break into this world."

"A freight hook. Well, that's convenient."

"As I said, it's a form of wish fulfillment. Just tell me what to bring in, and I can do it." I ripped the freight hook into existence long enough for Booker to jump up onto it. He descended from it, and Will made his way up and over. I made it disappear before he even latched on, though, so he wound up face first into the ground. "Oops," I said, as sarcastically as I could manage.

"Fortunately, I have no serious wounds from that, so it'll have to work." He stood up, dusted himself off, and brought his eye to his scope. "Slate's men are moving forwards. There aren't too many of them, and we have the high ground, but once we're down there, there's no way back up. That's bad for Booker, our close-quarters fighter, because he can't retreat as soon as he goes down there. We need a way to keep the pressure on them without taking too big a risk." I was way ahead of him.

"Look down there. It's a tear, for a turret. Although, it is a Columbian turret, and it'll attack all of us."

"Don't worry about that," said Lucy. "Give me fifteen seconds and I'll have it dancing for us in no time. Booker can take me down there, right, Booker?" They grinned at each other. _What happened over there?. . ._

"Alright, I guess we have our plan. Elizabeth's in charge of tears, I'll put pressure on from up here, and you two are in charge of making sure that turret's on our side to wipe them all out. Everyone ready? I'm about to make a shot."

We all nodded in agreement, and Will pulled the trigger. I crouched behind the same balcony he was on, waiting for the signal from Booker and Lucy. I stared down at the open square in front of me, waiting for them to get there - there!

I took a moment to stand up and open the tear. The rest of the work did itself for us; Lucy took care of the turret like it was nobody's business, and anyone else in our way were destroyed by Will and Booker.

"Hey, Elizabeth?" Will grabbed my shoulder before we jumped down what used to be a staircase and joined the others.

"What?" I tried to sound disgusted and looked away.

"I wanted to say I was sorry for earlier. I usually deal with problems through humor, and I didn't think it'd upset you that much. It won't happen again, promise." He smiled at me.

"I'll forgive you. . ." An evil grin spread across my face. "If you make good on that puppy promise and get me one as soon as we're out of here."

"Alright then, make up your mind on what kind you want." We smiled at each other briefly before jumping down the stairs.

The hall was shockingly vacant. Even in the wake of all the corpses and sounds of the night, it felt like we were completely and entirely alone. The night sky was absolutely beautiful, though; I'd have to make a note to lay down and enjoy it when my life doesn't depend on moving forwards. "I can't wait for Paris," I muttered.

"What was that?" asked Will.

"Nothing."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: This is my last of many updates for today! I hope everyone likes where it's going so far, as I really like writing it. I realize it's a little late, but I figured if I put it up at night, more people can read it throughout the night. As always, enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 13: The Soldier

Lucy's Perspective.

_"Booker, why aren't you open with anyone? I don't have anything to hide, and I'd hope you don't either."_

_ "It's not that I have things to hide, it's that sharing them would be a waste of time. That was the old Booker DeWitt. This is the new one."_

_ "Well, I wouldn't judge you differently if you were the old Booker DeWitt or the new Booker Dewitt. Fact is, you're helping now, and I appreciate that. So stop being so glum, would you?" I flashed a grin in his face._

_ ". . . Thanks, Lucy. I'll try to be more upbeat, but I ain't makin' no promises."_

_"No, you have to promise me that you're going to be happier. We won't get anywhere if you don't."_

_". . . Fine." _

After Elizabeth and will hopped down from the balcony, we started to progress forwards. As usual, the battlefield was littered with blood and gore, left in the aftermath of Booker and Will's rage. I wasn't exactly innocent, either, but I hadn't killed anyone directly yet. I kept telling myself that as if it was any better.

The next room was filled with those motorized patriot displays, all framed in glass surrounded by beautiful blue and red curtains. Each one had a lever in front of it. The center of the room was occupied by two large desks, each with paperwork and registers on top of them. Otherwise, the only things in the room were a few of those tear things Elizabeth could manipulate, and a few boxes on the ground.

". . . I swear to God, no rhyming this time. . ." Will crossed his arms and eyed the machines.

As if on cue, they all began to speak in a chorus of discordant rhymes we'd heard on the way here.

". . . Why me?" Will fell to his knees and jokingly scraped up some nonexistent dirt, grabbing a laugh from me and Elizabeth. Booker remained stone-faced, as if expecting danger.

The PA crackled to life above us. "Tin men, Booker. That's what Comstock will turn us into! Wires and gears, to replace heads and hearts!"

At the end of the hallway, one final spotlight flicked on. It was another motorized patriot, but this one wasn't of George Washington; this one was Comstock himself, holding a crank gun in hand with giant gears grinding out from his back. He started to slam on the glass that made up his display case. With one hit, it cracked. With another, it spread. With a third . . it shattered, and out came both glass and bullet.

"Get down!" Booker shouted, before diving behind one of the desks. As far as I could tell, we all followed suit.

Bullets whizzed over our heads; I could feel the heat coming off of them, nearly singing my hair. "Booker!" I shouted.

"What?"

"This thing's a machine, right? It has to have an access panel somewhere!"

"So!?" he screamed, peeking around the desk to get a look at the patriot. It still had plenty of ammo to spare. The resemblance to Comstock was uncanny; it was almost like he was in the room, shooting at us.

"If you two can get me in close to that thing, I can either break it or disable it somehow!"

Will clenched his left fist, and I watched as it turned into a tendril of water. "Leave that to me." He stood up, ignoring the fact that he could become Swiss cheese with a few extra seconds, and blasted it with the torrent of water.

It started to twitch, and I could tell right then that I could make this thing short circuit if I could just get to those gears behind it. I clenched my pipe in my hand and started to run towards it. Whenever Comstock 2.0 regained movement, Will blasted it again.

I got behind the thing and stared at its gear panel. It was one of the most complex things I'd seen in Columbia, and for a moment I got sidetracked trying to calculate how much money some of these parts would be. _Oh, right, I'm supposed to be breaking this thing. Right. _I started to slam on one of the gears with my pipe, causing it to bend. It jammed the access panel, and as one could expect, the security mechanism popped into effect and the access panel launched open.

Inside, it was a lot less complex than the outside; simple pulleys run by gears operated the arms and legs, and its identify-friend-foe system was as rudimentary as the other Columbian work. It ran on simple electrical currents, and - hey, what do you know, Shock Jockey. Huh. Unfortunately, I couldn't get this thing to be our best friend with the time we had available: Will only had a limited amount of those salt things, and Elizabeth couldn't just rip open tears to some more every time he needed some. Surprisingly enough, even with a main gear malfunctioning it continued to shoot at the area above the desk, though I can imagine its automation was stalled slightly.

_I should be able to jab this in right . . . here. _I planted a loose piece of metal into one of the gear drives, causing it to jam. This was connected directly to the Patriot's head, where all the main mechanisms-such as the ability to shoot a target- were based. Within seconds, its head had blown off, revealing what was underneath. and shortly after that, sparks shot out. "Everyone, you might want to get down!" I stormed to the nearest cover I could find - which was rather poor, mind you - and listened to the masterpiece execute itself.

A large explosion sounded behind me, paired with the flash of orange light that bathed the walls for less than a second. I stood up and dusted my hands off. "Done."

Will applauded. "Bravo, miss, bravo. Now get the Shock Jockey." He pointed to the back room with the "Shock Jockey: Who needs the power company?" logo above the door.

A trail of purple footprints led to the door. Inside was an entirely trashed room, ripped apart piece by piece. The posters from the wall were coated in paint, much like everything else in the Hall of Heroes currently. On the floor was a crate of Shock Jockey. Booker leaned forward, opened the lid, and . . .

"It's empty." He stood again and sighed. "What now?"

"I guess we turn around and go find this Slate fellow," said Will. "We should be used to things being harder than they have to be by now, anyways."

"I don't think that'll be too hard. . ." Elizabeth pointed out the door. The lights were flickering, and across the walls, floors, and ceiling, the little clumps of blue material which made up Shock Jockey were scattered about.

"Slate," said Booker. "He's here."

Will hefted his rifle, looking into the scope. "I'll go on ahead. Follow me after you hear gun shots."

"No," said Elizabeth. "You've taken far too many risks for our sake already, and we can't have you getting hurt again. Let Booker do it."

I nodded reluctantly. "She's right. Booker, you up to it?"

He was already out the door. We waited inside, awaiting the telltale gunshots which indicated the start of a gunfight. Nothing came, though; silence. For the longest time, all we heard was silence. Slowly, sounds started to appear outside, but none of them were gunshots.

Will clicked his tongue. "Airships. I'd recognize that sound anywhere. Looks like Comstock and his Founders are joining the party, now."

"Should we go help Booker?" I asked.

"Let's wait a bit longer. We can't crash the party too early and ruin the surprise very well, now can we?"

So wait we did. Nothing significant came from outside, and I gradually became more and more worried. What if they had killed Booker already?

"It was SLATE who killed for his country at Wounded Knee! It was SLATE who stormed the gates at Peking! SLATE!" Once again we heard Slate's voice, but this time it wasn't over the PA system: He was outside, in person, screaming at Booker.

"I think that's our cue!" shouted Elizabeth, and we stormed out the door after Will.

The gracefully adorned hall outside was in ruins; pillars were collapsing, the walls were covered in paint, and the floors were coated with blood. It hadn't looked like this before we went inside, but the significant change laid elsewhere. Corpses had spontaneously appeared during our time inside. Of Founders, Slate's men; a firefight had been going on out here, and we completely missed it. Up in the air, two Columbian gunships circled around, preparing to drop ropes for the troops to descend from. _Something tells me the Columbians are winning. _

Will crouched behind a wall of sandbags. "You two go find Booker; I'll stop our friends here from getting off their airship." He took aim at the soldiers on the ship, shooting heads off left and right.

Elizabeth groaned. "Will, you know what I'm going to say, don't you?"

"Yes, and thank you, mother, but I'm fine for now! So get a move on!"

With no more room for debate, Elizabeth and I reluctantly ran on ahead, looking for Booker. Shock Jockey conduits were set up all throughout the hall, all of which were connected to doors. Some were powered up; others weren't. One door in particular caught our attention; it had a significant amount of gore caked up inside, and it was the only one in which there was any sign of a struggle. We decided to go in there, unanimously.

The halls echoed with commands from Slate, telling them to "rush on to their 'Soldier's Deaths'", for glory and honor and whatnot. _I guess everyone gets to that low point in life eventually. _The ornately decorated hallways were completely decimated; the marble walls were stained with blood and ash, the carpets were coated in debris and red liquid. Turrets had been set up and destroyed, leaving behind fires and metal chunks.

"Don't make me do this, Slate, just give me the Shock Jockey." We heard Booker's voice from down the hall, along with Slate coughing.

"Eat what's on your plate, Booker! Finish it!" We ran into the room as Slate shouted, grabbed Booker by the collar and handed him a pistol. He crossed his hands across his chest and began to mutter silently, praying for the end. Even in the face of death, this Slate was courageous and stayed strong.

It was the room where Comstock was chasing Fitzroy and the anarchists off the balcony into the pool of lava. The artificial moon shined brightly down on Slate and Booker, as if giving them a spotlight.

"Booker, don't do it. You don't have to," I said, looking into his eyes. He placed the pistol to Slate's temple and inhaled deeply. "Show mercy."

Booker took the gun and tossed it aside. Slate's head lolled to the side. "You're a tin man, now, Booker! Tin man!" He shouted furiously, before passing into the realm of unconsciousness.

"You spared him," said Elizabeth. "I can't believe you did that, after all the trouble he put us through."

Booker shrugged. "It was hardly a mercy. Comstock's men will get to him eventually, and then he'll get what he wants." That was hardly the noble and selfless answer I had been expecting, but it worked. He sighed and paced towards the far wall, staring at the artificial night sky. "What do we do now?"

I sighed, crossing my arms. "I'm not sure. Slate should have the Shock Jockey on him. Go drink it, I guess?"

He nodded slightly, before approaching Slate. Upon looking at him closely, I realized he was rather worse for the wear; He had wounds all over his head, no hair, a missing eye, and had more wrinkles than an elephant. He really did need help. Booker rifled through his pockets before removing a purple bottle with the Shock Jockey logo on the side. The lid was a three-dimensional Shock Jockey mascot, riding the thunderbolt. Booker pulled off the lid and downed the contents, before dropping the bottle to the side. He stared at his hands and screamed again, similarly to before. Elizabeth and I shrugged.

"Say, isn't there something we're forgetting?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

"I don't know. Is there?" We both scratched our chin, before we noticed something.

All the gunshots outside had ceased.

Which either meant Will had won, or he was dead.

Without waiting for Booker, who was slowly recovering, we dashed back out onto the balcony we had been on earlier, to see more than a few Columbians about. Will was on the ground, not dead, though; he wasn't bleeding, either. He was hiding. The gunships still circled around, dropping more and more soldiers as they went. Soon, an entire force was down on the ground.

"Should we go get him?. . ." I asked.

Elizabeth had tears in her eyes. "Wh-What for? He's. . ."

"He's not dead, Elizabeth. He's waiting for a moment to escape." Her face flushed with relief, and she inhaled deeply.

"Oh, thank God!" She gasped, as Booker ran up behind us.

"What's the trouble?" He panted, holding his shotgun in one hand.

"Will's stuck down there and we can't exactly get him out with that many Columbians down there." I pointed at him and sighed. "I knew leaving him behind wasn't a good idea."

Booker shrugged. "We'll just wait until they start scouting around the place, then get him out of there. Shouldn't be too hard."

"That's not going to work, Booker. They're not stupid enough to leave a corpse that looks perfectly fine unattended, especially considering they need this place open in a few days. They'll find him eventually."

Booker snapped his fingers. "Alright, give me a minute." He took a few moments to scratch his chin and think. "I need you two to gather up all the salts you can find. I'm going to need a lot."

"What for?" I asked, tilting my head.

"Just do it." Reluctantly, I obliged, and Elizabeth and I set about gathering the bright blue beverage he so desired.

We had amassed a crate's worth of salts on the floor next to Booker. "Alright," he said, breathing deeply. "Now or never."

He clenched his fist and Shock Jockey started to grow out of his hands. He hurled one of the blobs towards a pillar down below, catching the attention of a few soldiers. Not enough to create a large disturbance, though, so he kept hurling blobs about until most everyone down there was surrounded in the blue substance. And then we realized what his plan was. He hurled one more blob down, right into the center of the crowd, and onto a soldier's face.

A web of electricity exploded around them, sprouting electricity from person to person. Booker had constructed a web of Shock Jockey which would electrocute everyone down there; including Will, if he managed to get caught, but so far he was free of electricity. Elizabeth watched with concern.

"Are you sure that was such a good idea? He might get zapped, you know."

He was already standing up, though, and laughing hysterically. He raised a thumb towards us from down below, and Elizabeth waved.

Booker rolled his eyes. "We better get moving back out, or else he'll beat us there. We don't want that."

We all nodded and started to head back through the First Lady exhibit. We reached the room where Comstock took the "seed of the Prophet" up into Monument Island. Elizabeth was obviously distressed, so I stopped to comfort her.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded. "It's just strange. Finding out all these things that Comstock never told me, learning all about the past I didn't know existed. I just want to know why he locked me in that tower for so long if I was his daughter. I just need some time to piece it all together. . ."

I shrugged, and said, "You take all the time you need. Either way, everything's going to be just fine. We'll all get out of this okay."

Elizabeth smiled at me. "Thanks, Lucy."

All of a sudden, gunshots sounded in front of us; One, two. Shotgun blasts, by the sound of it. Booker must have ran into some trouble on the other side of the bridge. Nothing he couldn't handle, but still, we rushed forwards to make sure he was okay. He stood with his shotgun raised, the barrel smoking, with two dead soldiers on the ground in front of him. So yes, he could handle it.

"Slate's men. Looks like we've still got a struggle to get out of this." He lowered his shotgun, sighing briefly. "Let's keep going."

We entered the rotunda, which was filled with soldiers once again. Booker ordered us to stay as far away from conflict as we possibly could, while he cleared out the room. One, two; he took them out pretty quickly with the shotgun. Three, four, and the last one he wiped out with a bit of Shock Jockey; blasting lightning from his hands. Elizabeth screamed as the poor man's head exploded, and Booker took a step back.

"That. . . I'm still shocked by how useful that is."

"What's useful?" I practically jumped forwards after I heard the voice behind me. I swiftly turned around, with my pipe raised, before I noticed it was Will. I breathed deeply, before lowering the pipe.

"Don't scare me like that!" I shouted.

"No promises. So what's useful?" he asked Booker.

"Shock Jockey is," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "Can't imagine we won't get any use out of it in the future."

"Well, it saved my life. I'm not complaining." He sighed deeply, staring around the rotunda. "I guess it's a good thing we came through here. And we're leaving with a few souvenirs, too."

Elizabeth shuddered slightly. "But I don't feel the need to overstay our welcome, so maybe we should get going. . ."

"Whatever you say, Elizabeth. We've got an airship to catch."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: The Airship

Elizabeth's Perspective.

Down on the boardwalk of Soldier's Field once more, we were, after having fought through the army of Founders that were amassed outside the Hall of Heroes. They weren't very keen on giving up, either; it was the hardest fight we'd had yet. They had an entirely perimeter established outside on the scaffolding and were fully prepared to handle us. Fortunately, none of the defenses were too much for Will and Booker to handle, with a little bit of help from us. I honestly didn't know if they'd still be alive if I didn't keep them stocked with supplies and Lucy didn't pass any of the technological obstacles in our way.

But either way, we broke through their defenses and left Slate and them to their own devices. I wasn't sure if he was going to be okay, but I hoped he was going to be. If anything, just a few years of imprisonment. . . Booker spared him for no reason, if that wasn't the case.

"Let's get the Shock Jockey conduit all charged up, Booker," said Lucy. She led us through the deserted boardwalk and towards the gondola station. It looked just as it had before; the lever, hooked up to the spherical conduit, which was meant to hold the Shock Jockey, which powered the gondola lines. Booker charged up his hand, and sent a bolt of electricity at it. It collected into a mass of the blue mixture we'd seen so much of on our trip, and we heard the Shock Jockey jingle as the gondola started drifting towards us.

I twirled around with delight, clasping my hands in front of my chest. "Oh, this is wonderful! I can't believe we're about to see Paris! It will be wonderful! I just can't wait until we get to see the Eiffel Tower, won't it be amazing, Lucy?"

She smiled radiantly at me. "I bet it will! I just can't wait until we see my mother and father again. . . What are you going to do, Booker?"

He remained silent, for the most part, muttering slightly. ". . . Booker?" I asked.

"Huh? Oh, uh, nothin'. I'm just gonna' wait and see how things play out." He shrugged, and stared upwards at the slowly approaching gondola. "Dammit. . . Get here faster!"

"How 'bout you, Will?" asked Lucy. "What do you plan to do once we get down under?"

Will and I looked at each other briefly, exchanging a look of distress. "I dunno'. Probably going to head outta' town, maybe. Get back home."

She frowned slightly. "You got a family or something? Siblings, wife?"

_I can't believe I never remembered to ask him if he had a family, let alone a wife. _"Yeah, I'd like to know as well."

He sighed. "No, 'fraid not. Still got business, though."

"Couldn't you stay for a little while?" I asked, pleading with my eyes.

I was met with another sigh. "I could do a couple more photographs of the Eiffel Tower while we're there, if that'd make you feel better."

We all grinned simultaneously. Booker brought us back to business, "The gondola's here now."

A voice crackled over the area, though. "He will abandon you, my sweet Elizabeth!" Comstock shouted over the gunship announcement systems.

"The Prophet himself, gracing us with his presence. We should be honored," muttered Will.

"He will get what he wants, and then he will leave you all alone, abandon you!" he shouted ferociously. "What do you expect from a liar and killer of women?"

"Father, Prophet, whoever you are, I'm leaving, and there's naught you can do to stop me!" I shouted, hoping he could hear me.

Evidently, he could. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong."

And with that, the gunships lifted from their spot below the city. On the deck, there were two heavily armored soldiers with rockets, and a groups of regular infantry poured out over the side.

The heavily armored men fired their rockets, sending them spiraling towards us. Of course, none of them were directed at me; Comstock obviously wanted me alive, but sparing Will, Booker and Lucy wasn't on their to do list. Will jumped onto one of the skylines and disappeared from view, while Lucy and Booker ducked behind a bench. I started to run away, begging to be anywhere but here, but I knew I couldn't leave. I'd gotten this far. We just needed to handle this situation, and we'd be done. I'd be off to Paris and everything would be perfect.

"Elizabeth!" shouted Booker. "I could use a restock!" He ripped me back into reality with a shout. Booker was running out of shotgun ammunition. "I need some, right now!"

"U-Uh, I'm looking!" I scanned the area, looking for anything he could use as a weapon. There was nothing around, though; absolutely nothing. _Who the hell thought that we could find a shotgun in an amusement park? _

"Elizabeth, I'm all out! I really need a restock!" He tossed his shotgun to the side and started to beat on people with the sky-hook. That wouldn't work on the armored people, though.

"I can't find anything, I'll let you know if there's anything else you can use, but the shotgun's out for now!"

He cursed under his breath and tackled a soldier to the ground, wrestling the hook to his neck before activating the trigger and ripping his head off. The scene was gruesome, but there wasn't much I could do about it; the sky-hook was all he had. As for the men with the rockets, Will was making quick work of them. His rooftop perch allowed him to blast their helmets off, before removing their head as well. With a half a minute, two of the men with the rockets were dead.

Gunships were still arriving, though, and our gondola wasn't here yet. It was getting there, but it still wasn't here, and that was our only salvation unless we wanted to fight the entire army of Founders. But we couldn't handle that right now. Booker was all out of ammunition, Will was still injured, and there was nothing Lucy could take care of. We were at a dead end, and I was having difficulty finding us a way out of it.

"Booker!" shouted Lucy, "I found something!" She tossed him a rifle, which he turned and loaded into a soldier's head. It had been sitting right underneath a bench, right in the corner of my eye. _How did I miss that? _

Flaming ravens circled around, looking for targets, and finding none. It was utterly chaotic. I couldn't even find Will, but I knew he was shooting accurately. He was blasting heads off left and right, leaving people with holes everywhere. But even with the stream of blood we left behind us, we couldn't thin their ranks. Everyone was everywhere.

"You see, my lamb!" Comstock shouted. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you! What has your False Shepard done for you so far, other than make things harder for you? You have a destiny, Elizabeth, and he is leading you astray! Just as the prophecy said!"

"She doesn't give a damn about your prophecy," shouted Will, before loading another bullet into another head. "And neither do I!"

Comstock seemed taken aback for a moment. "Who. . . is that?" He spoke softly, as if forgetting his voice was projected through the area. _Who? How does a Prophet not know something?. . . _ "Regardless, it is true! Why can't you simply come back home with me, my dear Elizabeth?"

"Just shut up, Comstock, and tell your soldiers to give it up before they all meet their deaths!" Lucy had her turn to speak now.

Comstock had another moment of confusion. "What. . . Grr! Soldiers, do not fret! Your glory will be found, in victory or death! Do not hesitate!"

And they certainly didn't. Our gondola arrived at the station, only to reveal a fireman and a motorized patriot. Lucy clenched her fist and raised her pipe, "Jackpot. Booker, hit that thing with a shock!" He did as she asked. The fireman dove off the ship and onto the boardwalk, but the motorized patriot was left paralyzed and sizzling. _I get it. . . She's going to make that ours, isn't she? _"I need five minutes, hold them off!"

"Got it!" Booker stood in front of her and raised his rifle, preparing to shoot anyone who was foolish enough to attack him, leaving me completely . . . exposed.

Soldiers took notice of this faster than I would've liked them to. "The lamb's over there! Ignore the Shepard and his friends, take her!" They all started rushing towards me, bludgeons raised and guns lowered. They clearly wanted me alive, but my perfect well being wasn't necessary. I raised my hands in fear, stepping back until I ran into a wall. _Th-They're going to take me back now. . . I-I can't go back!_ "I can't go back!"

A black cloud of crows engulfed the group before they could arrive, though, and Will dropped off the skyline next to me with "Sally" raised. He was firing into the cloud, grimacing visibly with each shot. "Not today, bastards! Step back! You aren't getting her today!" He continued firing until Sally needed to be reloaded, and by that time, most everyone was already taken care of. I couldn't stop staring at Will, though.

"W-Will. . ." I rushed forwards and wrapped my arms around him, afraid that if I let go they'd take me back again. _I won't let them have me. _

"Hey, I hate to break up this tender moment," he said, "but don't we still have a situation to handle?"

"No, as a matter of fact, we don't." Lucy spoke with her arm rested upon the mechanical George Washington, which was now our best friend. "He took care of the rest."

Booker sighed, scratching the back of his neck. "Now that that's handled, could we get to the airship already?"

I blinked several times before I realized I was desperately clinging to Will. I pulled off of him, blushing slightly, with a light nod. "Yeah, we should get a move on."

Lucy smiled. "Alright, George, it's okay now. You can rest." She smacked something on its back and it shut down, lowering its head as the mechanical whirring sound from inside of it stopped.

We hopped on the gondola and Booker pulled the lever from inside. The rest of us sat outside, staring towards the First Lady. "I can't believe it," I said. "I'm almost out. I get to go to Paris now. Everything will be perfect!" The gondola slowly slid forwards, not nearly fast enough for me. _I'm going to be in Paris soon. . . It'll be perfect. No more silly stories about my father and this prophecy. I get to be normal. _I couldn't wait.

Lucy smiled. "I get to see my mom and dad again. I can't wait either."

Will and Booker were eerily silent, though. They hadn't said anything conversational for a while now. _Are they hiding something?_

Will spoke for the first time in a while now. "Well, Booker, what are _you _going to do in Paris?" The emphasis on the question filled me with a dark premonition, but I couldn't quite tell what from.

"Uh. . . I-I'm not sure. Maybe do some sightseeing and finish my business," he said, as nonchalantly as possible. _What's up with them? _

The gondola stopped at its station, right outside the dock into the First Lady. The silence frightened me. It was almost as if the night sky was reflecting an ominous aura down upon us, with the sole purpose of unnerving me. _I have to remain positive. _

The First Lady was certainly well adorned; all the framework was golden, the balloon itself appeared to be made out of the closest material they could find to red velvet that would still allow it to float, and everything around it was decorated beautifully. And, the centerpiece; a giant portrait of Lady Comstock, adorned with golden lining, on either side of the balloon. With that much metal on it, I was surprised that it could float.

Booker pushed open the door to allow us inside. He held the foot-thick door open for the three of us, before sliding inside and closing it himself. "Wow. . ." I said, glancing around the cockpit. It was more ornate than a palace I'd read about in one of my books. All the furniture was velvet, there was an entire backroom set to accommodate for the First Lady; clothes her size, what looked like a bed for her, portraits all across the wall. Everything was amazing.

"Alright, Booker, punch in some coordinates," said Will. "I'm gonna' get some rest." He jumped onto the couch and kicked his feet up, transferring blood and mud from his jacket onto the furniture. "I deserve it."

"You sure do, our suited wonder," said Lucy. "I'll help Booker out with the airship. I have experience," she said.

I smiled and ran forwards into the cockpit, staring out at it. Booker slid a wrench over and leaned forwards, grabbing the levers that adjusted the coordinates. "I can't wait to see everything the world has to offer. . . It's going to be amazing!"

"Hey, keep it down up there! I'm trying to sleep!" Will tussled over and over, his eyelids shut tight. I giggled lightly. _He really is tired, isn't he? _

I watched Booker change the coordinates on the levers. . . 40 North, by 74 West? _Those aren't the coordinates for New York, those are for. . . _

"Wait, that isn't Paris. That's New York." I crossed my arms and shot an evil glare towards Booker. _This doesn't add up. _

"How did you know that?" He opened his eyes widely and stared at me, completely shocked. All I could see on his face was evil; absolute evil. _Comstock was right. . . He's a cruel and horrible father, but he was right. . . Booker lied to me. _The realization was almost immediate: This really was a False Shepard, filling us with his lies, wasn't he?

"One thing I had in that tower was time, Mr. DeWitt."

I couldn't pay attention to anything else in the room. Lucy said something along the lines of "What are you doing, Booker? Did you lie to us the entire time?" but I couldn't pay attention to that right now.

"I owed money. And I knew a guy, who offered to pay off my debt in exchange for. . . you."

I started to cry. I couldn't believe it. I was just a bargaining chip, not important. I was purely something Booker was using. He saved me for his own good. . . He never planned on taking any of us to Paris.

I felt a hand on my back and turned to see Booker, trying to comfort me. "Hey," he said, trying to calm me down, as if anything he could say would manage to make me feel better about being kidnapped by him. I reached for something, anything I could use behind me, and that's when I felt it; the wrench he had slid across the counter. I grabbed it and clenched it in my hand, thoroughly contemplating what I was going to do. But I knew before I even started to do it.

With all the force I could muster, I slammed the wrench into his temple. He fell to the ground with a bloodied forehead, and a resounding 'thud' echoed through the room.

Will sat up suddenly, jumping to his feet with his hand on his gun. "What just happened?"

I leaned forward and began to alter the coordinates, setting them to take us to Paris. North: 2, East: 49. _I'm still going to Paris. . . _

"Lucy, what just happened?"

"Booker lied to all of us. He wasn't helping us get to Paris, he was kidnapping Elizabeth. . . He lied. . ." She bit her lip, rubbing her elbow vigorously. "I can't believe he did that. . ."

I vigorously adjusted controls, begging it to go faster. "Come on, why won't this thing move!"

Will put a hand on my shoulder. "Elizabeth, you need to calm down! You're going to break it!"

I turned towards him and stared into his eyes with fury. "You knew too, didn't you? I knew it was too convenient for you two to just be here at the same time, helping us through all of this! You were both too nice!" I slapped him, the sound echoing through the room for a moment. "Just get away from me!"

He rubbed his cheek and shook his jaw for a moment. "That . . . was not fun." He didn't waver, though. "Elizabeth, do you really think that? Really?"

I collapsed, metaphorically speaking. It was too much. "I-I don't know! I just don't know anymore!" I started to cry again, unsure of what to believe. I thought these people cared about me. Did they really?

Something more alarming came up, though. Will pointed out the glass viewing chamber, at a giant, red zeppelin floating around. "That's . . . That's not good." He grabbed my arm, and started to pull me off the ship. "That's the Vox." He looked more closely. "Lucy, change the coordinates to the nearest thing in the city!"

"That'd be. . ." she stared at the manual, looking for the coordinates. "Finkton, why?"

"We need to get off this thing, right now, or we're in trouble." He looked into my eyes with the hard grey irides I'd gotten so used to. "You're going to have to trust me for just a little while longer."

I stared at him and put on the hardest expression I could muster. "Fine, but after that, I'm going to get off this city by myself."

Lucy stared down at Booker. "I'm going to stay here with him and make sure he doesn't get into any trouble. I'll catch up with you later, Will. You've still got to take me to Paris."

He nodded. "Noted. So if you can't catch up with me, make sure you meet me . . ." He stared at a map of Columbia for a moment, before deciding on a location. "Lutece Laboratories, in two or three days."

We all nodded unanimously and the boat docked. Will and I got off, waving Lucy goodbye, before re-entering the streets of the city. But this time, I won't be so foolish. . .


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: The Reveal

Will's Perspective.

"Elizabeth, would you just slow down?" I shouted after her, running out of breath. All things considered, she had an incredible amount of endurance.

"No!" she shouted, continuing to run from me. People were starting to stare, too; We had been dropped off at one of the factories in Finkton, and the workers were just arriving in the morning. They formed a giant crowd, walking towards wherever the were heading, and conveniently enough, most of them gave headway to Elizabeth and let her pass in front of them. Unfortunately, I didn't receive the same treatment.

"Why not? I didn't do anything! I'm a victim, too!" I pushed people aside furiously, blinking repeatedly, barely catching glimpses at her bright blue bow that indicated where I should go. _This is too much effort._ "Could you at least tell me what your plan is after you get away from us?"

"I don't know!" She turned around and shouted at me, "But I don't want to stay here!" Her outburst attracted quite a bit of attention; that is, the attention of anyone we hadn't already gotten the attention of. "You were just supposed to get me off the airship, not follow me around!"

I grabbed her by the arm and stared at her with ferocity. "Could you at least let me explain the damn situation? You're not exactly helping any of us, including yourself. You could at least repay the debt _you_ owe to us before running off."

Her face softened, and she almost looked hurt as if coming to a realization. "I guess you're right. . ." She sighed. "Let's just get somewhere where we can talk this out, okay?"

I nodded at her comment and sighed, tucking Sally further into my jacket. "Good. Now, where could we go?" I looked around the streets. I hadn't gotten a good glance at this place: I was a bit preoccupied with chasing Elizabeth. It looked about the same as any other building in Columbia, except everything had Fink's face on it. Fink. . . All the buildings, all the crates, everything had his name on them. None of the buildings, save for factories, which were still a good ways away, were more than two or three stories. Did people live here, or where they storage?

All the colors were boring, too; pale yellows, greens, and reds adorned the walls where they weren't painted by Vox Populi, and where they were, people were constantly scrubbing them off. _That must be a terrible job. _

"I'm not sure where we can go. . ." She snapped her fingers. "I should have taken the note off of Booker to find out where that nice couple from the Raffle lived!"

"Nice couple from the raffle?" I blinked, obviously missing something.

"Eh, it's a long story."

"Could you two keep it down? I frankly don't care about your issues," said a random bystander from the crowd. He was dressed in the standard Finkton uniform; torn or worn clothing, nothing in particular. A chorus of "yeah" or "what he said" started after he finished. It was only then that I noticed we were the only ones talking, and we were starting to get the attention of security.

"Oh, right," I whispered. "Finkton's a _no-fun-allowed _kind of place. Let's just keep it quiet until we're alone."

She nodded her head lightly and clasped her hands behind her back, looking towards the ground, _This is gonna' be a long day, isn't it? Why do I get the hard jobs? _

I took some time to observe members of the crowd. Most of them were of other races; that made sense. Finkton wasn't the upper class kind of work place, and just about all the upper class workers were white. Anyone white down here must've been really down on their luck to have ended up in a place like this. _Does that include me? I think so. _No one looked at anything or anyone other than the ground in front of them, making me look like a sore thumb. I sighed and lowered the rim on my hat, hoping to go unnoticed, yet still be able to observe.

Observation was the part of my job that I really enjoyed. Be it photography, or - well, the other one - it was a really important part of my job, and frankly, the most fun. I got to stare at people and learn everything there was to know about them. Describe every facial feature, every hair out of place, all perfectly. It was an incredible sensation. I made sure to make a mental note of people who looked important; folks in suits and with briefcases, as opposed to dirty clothes and toolboxes.

"Will?" whispered Elizabeth, and I leaned towards her slightly so I could hear it without drawing too much attention to us.

"Yes?" I replied, in a similar tone to hers.

"Is that really all I am? A bargaining chip that no one cares about?" She bit her lip and I saw her lower her head more. _Is she crying? _

"To some people, possibly. I don't think that's how anyone you know does, though." I tried to sound as comforting as I could possibly be, but I wasn't sure it was working. Either way, I had to tell the truth.

"And what about you? Are you just doing this for personal gain?" Once again she lowered her head further. I glanced at the security on either side of us; none of them had caught wind of our conversation.

"There's no such thing as personal gain for me anymore." I laughed and put my hand on her back. "But trust me, you're not a bargaining chip. Not in my eyes, at least. I'm doing this because I care."

She shivered slightly and nodded again. "Thanks. . ." Her whisper was barely audible, but I pieced it together well enough.

Slowly, the crowd started to disperse as we reached the factories. Some people went to the loading and unloading bays; others went to offices. I nudged Elizabeth and pointed to a building that looked almost abandoned on the far side of the lot, through an array of crates. I grabbed her arm and started to lead her towards it, a little faster than she might have liked.

We entered the abandoned, brick building, and I was genuinely shocked by what was on the inside. An antiquated desk, military grade equipment, filing cabinets; It was a genuine office building, if it was a bit old. And, you know, filled with questionable items that only Fink knew the true use of.

I whistled. "I wasn't quite expecting that."

Elizabeth crossed her arms and stared at me. "Now tell me all you know about the whole Booker situation."

I raised my hands, trying to indicate peace. "Whoa, calm down. I told you, I didn't do anything wrong. Booker does have a situation, though, and you were the way he was going to take care of it."

"Did you know?" She stared at me with those giant oceans she called eyes. _Curse those eyes. Curse them to hell._

I scratched the back of my neck, thinking of the nicest way to say this. "Ehm. . . Yes and no."

"Yes _and _no? What's that mean?"

"I _did_ know he was using you as leverage. I _didn't _know he was taking you to New York instead of Paris." And the truth comes out.

She groaned. "I knew it! You're just as bad as he is!" She pushed away from me and turned around.

"Hold on, you didn't let me finish. My job . . . was to help Booker relieve himself of his debt situation _without_ getting rid of you."

There was a very specific reason I was in Columbia, in all honesty. A certain someone - who will remain unnamed - had a similar request for the girl, Elizabeth, as Booker's certain someone did. The difference being, he (or she) wanted Elizabeth freed to live her life, as opposed to being a prisoner, assuming that's what Booker was selling her into. So I was supposed to stop Booker from retrieving her and retrieve her myself. But as soon as I came across Booker's name, I realized that I couldn't handle him all by myself. Even if I wanted to. So I decided that we could work out a compromise; On the way to Paris, where I thought we were going, I decided that I'd talk him into working with me and my employer to handle his employer. The two of us were virtually an unstoppable force, anyways, as this trip had proven.

"What. . . So you're doing just what he did? You were hired to save me, you don't even care?" She seemed just as, if not more, furious than she had before.

"Ehm, I won't say hired, because I wasn't necessarily hired. I'm not getting paid."

"Then why are you doing it?"

"Didn't I tell you?" I snickered slightly. "I'm doing this because I care. I heard your story; trapped in the tower all your life with nothing but a written fate. I sympathized with it. I came here to save you. I did it because I wanted a better life for you, no pay involved."

This had her taken aback. "Oh." That was the only shape her mouth formed. "Oh," she said again, this time with a little more expression. "I didn't know that."

"So the whole reason I'm here is to make sure you get out okay. I picked up Lucy and her family by mistake, and wound up working with Booker, but that was my primary reason for coming to Columbia. This time, anyways."

"So why are you working with Booker? Why can't you just take me and Lucy down?"

"Because Booker owes me twenty bucks." She laughed slightly. "Just kidding. Booker's an old friend of mine. Helped me out with a lot back then. It didn't feel right to just leave him to failure, so I'm trying to help him find salvation. And hey, if we both mess up, it's the end of both of us, and that's what friends are for."

She sighed. "So we're still going to go look for him, aren't we?"

"I'm afraid so. Either way, we kind of need his help. Or at least, we could use it. It's all up to you, though. I've never been one for forgiveness anyways, so I won't care either way. I owe Lucy a trip to Paris, though."

She sighed and took a long moment to contemplate. Eventually, she retreated out of her shell and arrived at her conclusion. "We'll find Booker and Lucy, and then we'll get off of this city. You're going to execute your plan, and you're going to get Booker to help you. And then we'll all get to Paris, and we can all go our separate ways. Okay?"

I shrugged. "If that's what you want."

"It i-" She was interrupted by a shout from across the room.

"Hey!" I turned to see a policeman with his gun pulled out. "You're not supposed to be in here! This is experimental equipment!"

"Uh-oh." Elizabeth took a few steps back, and I reached into my jacket pocket to keep a hand on Sally at all times.

"You two need to come with me. You're under arrest." He grabbed a pair of handcuffs from his belt and prepared to cuff me and Elizabeth together.

"That, my friend, is not going to happen." I sent a jab towards his throat, causing him to gag vigorously. Then, I grabbed my gun, placed it to his forehead, and sent a bullet through him.

Elizabeth shrieked again, still not used to the killing. I felt worse about it every time it happened. "Come on, we need to get out of here," I said. "They're certainly going to come screaming now."

And come screaming they did. Four more people ran in, obviously not expecting a firefight; none of them had weapons ready. One of them was smarter than his friends and ran out. I cursed under my breath. "That's not good," I said, before I shot each of the remaining cops, rather simply; one, two, three. They all dropped dead. _I missed you, Sally._

"Come on, we need to find a ship to look for those two. Think we could stowaway on somebody else's?" I asked.

"Probably. Let's see if we can find a storage ship."

An alarm sounded throughout the factory's exterior. "We've received reports of a man charged with killing Finkton officials, as well as theft of experimental equipment, accompanied by a woman. Their descriptions go as follows;" It took a moment to describe rather inaccurate profiles of us. I tried to stop myself from laughing, and failed rather miserably.

"Come on, one of the freight ships is probably docked a little further into the factory. We'll go take a look, and I'll handle anyone that shows up."

"Right. . ." she said. "And Will?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks for everything. All that you just said, and everything you've done so far. I'm . . . I'm sorry for hitting you earlier." She looked down and poked at the ground with her feet.

"Hey, you know what? Sometimes, I deserve it. You were just cashing in for all the times I did, okay?" I grinned sarcastically at her, and she laughed.

"Got it. But seriously, I'm really glad that you came. Or else I might be on my way to New York right now. . . Thanks for being someone I can confide in."

"No problem." I gestured towards the door. "Ladies first."

She laughed, "Why thank you, good sir." She bowed and we left the storage facility.

The streets were absolutely abandoned by anything but military forces, now that the alarm had gone off. _This won't go well if we keep at it with guns blazing. We need. . . Jackpot. _I saw a freighter pulling into the docks, ripe for the picking with hiding spots. We could camp out on that until things died down.

"Elizabeth," I whispered, before pointing at the ship. "That's our hiding spot. You need to stay absolutely silent and do exactly as I do. The police can't see us get on, or we'll have the whole Founder army on our backs, and I don't know if I can handle that alone." She nodded slowly and remained silent, as I had asked, and I scanned the area.

_There isn't as much cover as I'd like there to be, and I direct advance would probably get us caught. So. . . What's the other plan? _I continued scanning the area, not entirely sure of how we'd advance. My answer lied directly above us in the form of a sky-hook; we could hook on, jump towards the roof, and get across the street without any risk of being seen. Of course, I wasn't sure if we were far enough that something like that would go unnoticed, but I had to try.

I pointed above us and pulled the sky-hook over my wrist, indicating for Elizabeth to do the same. I inhaled deeply, and started to trigger the hook. _Here goes nothin'. . . _

It pulled me upwards and latched onto the hook above us with a clank, and I held my breath, hoping no one had heard it. _One. . . Two. . . Three. _If no one had heard it or responded in that time, no one would care. Then again, we were in a _factory; _I doubt clanks and clunks were of any concern.

I hopped over to the roof and turned to watch Elizabeth do the same. She frightfully pulled her hook over her hand and did the same thing I did; waited a moment before making any sudden movements, and then hopping towards the roof. "Very graceful," I muttered, as she landed next to me.

"Oh, stop it," she whispered.

I raised a finger to my lip, indicating that we needed silence again for this part. I crouched low to the ground and started to silently move across the roof, occasionally glancing back to make sure she'd done the same. Compared to the streets, the roofs were like palaces; no trash, no chars, no anything. Absolutely clean. _That's almost disappointing,_ I thought to myself, before turning back to the matter at hand.

I jumped onto another roof and turned to help Elizabeth; she wasn't as skilled in this art as I was. In my previous profession, it was a bit of a necessity. . .

We were only a good thirty feet away from the ship now. "Just a bit further. . ." I muttered. "We need to get down, now." I looked at the descent below us, searching for any visible handholds. All I caught wind of was a pipe, and that's all I needed. I grabbed it, placed both feet on it, and slid down to the ground almost silently. The bulk of the enemy was behind us, though; now we just needed a clean finish.

Elizabeth stared at the drop below her with her mouth agape. She shook her head furiously at me, begging for some other way. I tried to plead her onward with my eyes, but she wouldn't budge.

"Oh, come on," I whispered, hoping she could hear me. "I'm down here to catch you if anything goes wrong, just stay quiet!"

She shook her head again. _Oh, come on, she lives in a damn sky-city, and she can't even jump off a roof?_

Eventually, after minutes of silent negotiation, she put her hands and feet on the pipe. She started to slide down, slowly, her eyes tightly shut. She slid down slowly, slowly. . .

before she began a plummet to the earth.

I caught her before anything bad could happen, but she screamed. Of all times to scream, she picked _now. _Immediately after she was on the ground.

"Hey, what was that?" asked one of the guards urgently.

I placed my hand over her mouth to stifle anything else and pulled her to the ground behind one of the "warning" signs set alongside the edges of the city. She stared at me with her bright blue eyes, communicating the message of _I screwed up, didn't I?_

_Yes, you did. _

I didn't even take my hand off her mouth. I was afraid that even the slightest movement would give us away. I just sat there, not allowing her to move and not moving myself, waiting for any telltale sign that they weren't looking for us anymore. It didn't come, though. The footsteps gradually approached us, and then gradually went away, before gradually approaching us again. I needed some distinct sign that they weren't coming. . .

"Ah, maybe somebody fell off the edge or something. No one's here, though." A few of them laughed before I heard their laughs echo from around the corner.

I stared at Elizabeth, hoping my expression was as serious as it looked. I breathed, "You almost completely ruined that. Be more careful next time, and put more trust in me. Got it?" She nodded. "I'm going to peek around this corner and make sure no one's still out there. Stay absolutely silent. Got it?" She nodded again.

I turned my head around the side of the barrier, expecting police or something of the sort, but greeted with nothing. A vacant lot leading to the ship that was to be our salvation.

"Alright," I whispered to her. "You can come out now."

She sighed and patted down the sides of her dress. "Right. . . Now what?"

"Now. . . We've got a boat to catch."

I led her toward the ship, locating a spot we could hide. We could easily get on the ship, but I wasn't sure if we could do so without being seen. "Got any bright ideas," I said, to no one in particular.

"What if we hid in some of the crates they're loading on?" She pointed at a group of crates in the "TO BE LOADED- DO NOT TOUCH" pile. "If we hide in there, they'll pull us on, assuming we're just some heavy machinery. That sound like a plan?"

"You just made up for that blunder a minute ago. Come on, let's go, before they start unloading." I ran, silently of course, towards the pile and stared at the crates. "Which one should we hide in?"

"Are we hiding in the same one?" she asked, tilting her head.

"I would assume so. That way, we can't get separated; we're only inches apart." I pointed to a large crate; easily big enough for two people and then some. "We'll hide in there. Help me empty it."

She scratched her elbow and reluctantly agreed. We opened the lid to find an assortment of salts inside, wrapped in thick cloth. Other than the few I stuffed in my pockets, the rest went into other crates or over the edge of the city. "Alright." I stabbed a hole in the side of the crate. "Just in case we need air, or need to see something." I also made sure it opened from the inside; we didn't need to get trapped or anything. "Ladies first," I said, and gestured to the crate.

She muttered something inaudible under her breath and climbed into the crate, leaving just enough room for me. "Your turn," she muttered, obviously not happy.

"What's the matter with sleeping in a crate? I can share, you know." I started to climb inside, before realizing that it really wasn't very comfortable. We only had a couple inches to move.

"Nothing's wrong with it! I happen to sleep in crates rather often, don't you?" she asked, her voice riddled with sarcasm.

I pulled the lid closed, leaving us in complete darkness, other than what the cracks in the lid allowed us to see. "I do, as a matter of fact. Now shush. We need it quiet in here."

She nodded - I could only tell because of the movement I felt - and we were silent.

Her face was raked with golden lines of sun, revealing only parts of her face. It was only a few inches from mine, and I won't deny it; it was a little uncomfortable, being that close to someone. Especially in such a confined space. It was like being in a coffin. _Damn, now I_ really _don't want to die. _

After a while, I think she noticed I was staring at her. "Is something wrong?" she asked, her voice practically silent, a quizzical look in her eye.

"Not wrong. There just isn't much else to look at." She nodded slowly and we stared at each other for a little while longer. Then, I heard footsteps. I raised a finger to my lip,- and inadvertently poked her in the chin - as silence was an absolute requirement now. Men whistled outside of our crate, singing sea shanties and whatnot before finally coming across our box. The added weight didn't phase them; they were absolutely fine with carrying something that should have been a hundred pounds less. The shaking made things even more uncomfortable, though; Elizabeth and I were jostled about, and I was genuinely surprised no one noticed us inside.

They set us down on the deck of the ship eventually. "We're settin' sail!" One of them shouted to the captain. I guess boat terms up here where the same as they were down there.

We sat in silence for quite some time. I started to count, for no reason, and somewhere around two-thousand-seven-hundred-sixty-two, the lid to our crate was ripped open.

"And just what do you think you two're doin'?"


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Hello, readers! Sorry, but a few of my updates are going to be slower than they usually are. I promise no updates are going to take a ridiculously long time, but they won't be as fast as usual. **

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Chapter 16: The Factory

Booker's Perspective.

_Ugh. . . Feels like a pile of bricks just fell on my head. . ._ I opened my eyes slowly, to see Elizabeth and Will arguing at the cockpit. She slapped him, and started to yell at him again, but I couldn't hear any of it over the ringing in my ears. Lucy crouched over me and stared at my forehead, as if I was severely injured or something of the sort. _What just . . . What just happened?_

Oh, right. Elizabeth found out that I was lying to her and hit me in the head with a wrench. _Damn. . ._

I blacked out again, to be awakened by a man nudging me with his foot. He appeared to be wearing some kind of uniform. . . Not standard Columbian attire, though; this looked like something someone would wear down in the slums. His skin was dark, and his face was painted, as far as I could tell; my vision wasn't back yet. He wore a red beret and a stained, white shirt under a brown vest. I tried to get a better look at him, but other than the gun, the only thing I saw before he knocked me out again was a cruel grin.

I awakened once more, this time to find myself staring at a group of prisoners in a stone yard, breaking it down into gravel. I was being dangled from the ship. . . I cursed internally, before overcoming the shock long enough to get a good look at what was down there. Countless colored men down there, ankles bound together, all breaking stones and listening to the stuff you usually only hear in performances; prison blues and the like. At the end of the chain, on a platform above all the others, was a giant Handy-Man. He looked at me and cracked his nonexistent knuckles, as if tempting me to try anything. _You'll be next, _it seemed to say.

"This one's awake, Daisy," I heard a voice call from behind me. It was rugged and deep, as was the owner; the same man who knocked me unconscious before. He turned me around and pulled me to face Daisy, who crouched on the ground, looking at a Vox Populi victim. _Did anyone from before stay on the airship? _I glanced around the room as much as I could without moving my head too much. _I don't see anyone. . ._

"So you this False Shepard we been hearin' so much about. . ." Daisy Fitzroy's tone was condescending, her speech slurred slightly. "Caused a mess a' trouble down at the raffle," she said, turning to face me for the first time. Her hair was tied back, revealing more of her hard features; she looked about as warlike as any woman I'd seen in a long time. She wore a red scarf around her neck, and I was beginning to notice a trend. _Guess the Vox like red._

"So you Fitzroy?" I asked, trying to retain an aura of indifference.

"Nothin' but," she said, leaning towards me. As intimidating as this was, I needed to stay cool.

"Look, I ain't got no quarrel with you, or your Vox Populi. But this is my airship you're hangin' me out of, and I need perilous need of it." I was still a little dazed and couldn't focus my vision on her.

"Really? Sure looks like ol' Comstock's airship to me."

"I ain't lookin' for a fi-"

"There's already a fight, DeWitt." _How did she know my name? _"Question is, which side you on? Comstock is the God of the white man, rich man, pitiless man! But if you believe in the common folk, then join the Vox!" _Was she threatening me, or recruiting me?_

"I just want my ship," I muttered.

"And the Vox will give her to ya'." She smiled slowly, a smug and cruel grin. "But first, you must help the Vox. Down in Finkton is a gunsmith who can donate weapons to our cause. Get our guns from him, and you get your ship back."

The man holding me held me out the airship a little further. "Should we give 'im his friend now?"

"Oh, almost forgot." She whistled. "Bring the girl in, Char'!"

Lucy was dragged out the backroom to the airship and held over the edge of the ship, same as me. I struggled against the man's grip, to no avail. "And where do we get off?"

She smiled. "Right here."

With that, they dropped us from the ship, straight down to whatever was below us. For a moment I stared upwards, expecting to meet my demise as I fell, but instead, I was greeted by a sharp pain in my back. We landed simultaneously with a thud, and I saw black dots dance around in my vision. _This head trauma isn't helping me. . ._

I slowly stood up and looked around. I was on a plain, white, wooden dock; much like most of the other ones in Columbia, but this one was connected to a giant factory, with a sign above it that said "Fink MFG", along with a picture of Jeremiah Fink. His eyes gazed down upon the workers, his mouth hidden by his bushy mustache as if a constant reminder that you weren't allowed to fail what you were assigned to, or he'd find out. _This place sure looks like a paradise up above, but down here, it's far from it. _

It was only then that I realized I wasn't alone down here, and Lucy was still on the ground behind me. I turned to get a look at her and saw her standing slowly, rubbing the back of her head with a low moan.

"You alright?" I asked, helping her up.

"That fall wasn't much fun, but other than that, it was fine. You?" she replied, nervously.

"I'm . . . I'm okay."

"Good." She whistled, and we stood in silence for a moment. "So. . . What now?"

"I'm . . . I'm not sure. What happened to Will and Elizabeth?" I asked, finally coming back to my senses.

"Elizabeth didn't want to stay and Will wouldn't let her get off alone, so he arranged a meeting place for us." She bit her lip. "Well, for _me. _Not really for you."

I sighed. "So she's really that mad, huh? I guess I could have expected that from her, but I'm not so sure about Will. Why'd he run off?"

"I dunno'. But, I decided you needed some extra help. So I stayed." She shrugged. "I figured you were going to find them anyways. Aren't you?"

I searched myself slowly to see if I had all my weapons. _Shotgun: Check, Rifle: Check. Didn't have much else before; no valuables or anything, save all the Eagles, which are still there. Looks like the Vox aren't looters. _"I don't see whatever choice I've got. I've still got to manage the deal some way or another. You comin' with?"

"Yeah, I am," she said, with full determination.

"Wasn't my lie enough to shake your determination?" I asked, slightly suspicious as to her motives.

"I realize that you lied to us, and while I don't appreciate it, I know you did what you had to do. You weren't planning to sell me, were you?"

"No, I wasn't."

"So you didn't double-cross me, and I'll give you another chance to make it up for yourself. I won't dictate your choice of action, but let me know whether you're going to New York or Paris. I need to know that kind of stuff." She grinned radiantly at me, leaving me completely bewildered. _How does she stay so positive? _

"Right. . . I guess we need to go find them. You got any idea where they got off?" I asked, hefting my shotgun over my shoulder.

"They got off in the same place we did, if a little further away. They got off where most of the workers did, which means they're probably somewhere around here. . ."

I glanced around, getting a better look at the factory. Most of the "work" these people were doing consisted of scrubbing walls, floors, and crates, making sure they're absolutely perfect. Also known as the work for the people who aren't important enough to do anything actual. Security stood by each group of workers, making sure no one so much as moved out of order. They held clubs and batons, beating them against their hand to look intimidating, but when you been in the business as long as I have, ain't much that intimidates you anymore.

"Any more specific directions?" I asked, in a whisper.

"None. I guess we should just keep moving. I do imagine that the crates here might have something we can use in them, though. We can take a look if we get the workers to disperse or keep it nice and quiet. It's up to you." she said, looking around the area.

It's true that Fink had manufactured most of the things I'd used on this trip so far; Vigors, weapons, the Sky-hook. I'm sure looting through some crates wouldn't be a bad thing.

"We'll look for some weapons. Not only am I low on ammo for these, but I could use some better ones."

"And what's our diversion?" she asked, a playful note in her voice.

"Hmm. . ."

Suddenly, someone called out from behind me. "Looks like you two could use a bit of help," he said, sounding as shifty as shifty could sound. I turned to face him and was met by a man who couldn't look more professional; he looked almost fifty, grey lines in his hair, but he was certainly capable of himself.

"Yeah? And what could you do for us?" I asked, a suspicious tone in my voice.

"I couldn't help but overhear your predicament, and it just so happens that I can help you. You need the security to leave, yes? I can make that happen," he said, "free of charge."

"And what's the catch?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. Lucy stayed silent.

"No catch. Just, if you run into me somewhere along the road, it would help if you returned the favor, should you get the chance. Do we have a deal?" He extended his hand, staring at me. His eyes were a deep green, like mine, but the difference was in his face; the wrinkles showed as he smiled.

"Do I get a name?" My suspicion hadn't faded yet.

"Call me John. I won't ask yours; I've got a fairly good idea who you are. You two'll get your loot in a second," he said, grinning at us, before running off to one of the security workers. He whispered in the man's ear, before the guard's expression changed suddenly. He now looked surprised, and afraid. He ran away, bringing all the workers and other guards with him.

John walked back to us now, laughing wildly. "See, what'd I tell you? I've got a high level of control in this area."

"And why'd you help us?" I asked, making my way for the crates.

"You two seem like some nice folk who're stuck in a rut and I can't say I haven't been there before. But in all honesty, your interests are my interests; you get off town, and things go back to normal. We all want that, don't we?" So he did know who we were. "If we should cross paths along the way, please introduce me to this Lamb lady. I'd like very much to meet her."

I smiled wryly at him, surprised with his amount of information. _He must be an official in Finkton, which would explain why he knows who I am and what the situation is. _"Thanks for the help, pal. I appreciate it.

"No problem," he said, before saluting sarcastically and heading off.

Lucy crossed her arms. "I can't imagine we won't meet him again soon. Are you sure it was a good idea to promise him a favor?"

I shrugged, before opening the lid to one of the crates and rifling through the inside. There were weapons of all sorts, all of which I could have used to the fullest, but I was looking for something in particular. "If we do see him soon, I don't imagine he'll want a favor that'll be too costing, especially considering we had the ability to just look him over. And if worse comes to worst, we just say no."

She bit her lip and glanced to the side. "I guess so. . ."

_Jackpot. _I pulled out of the box a shotgun similar, yet different than my own. Mine was rusted and old, pulled off the body of a dead soldier; this one was fresh off the factory lines, upgraded, and ornately decorated. "This oughta' pack a punch. Fits more slugs in, too."

She smiled. "I'm glad I had the idea, then. Now, come on, people'll come back eventually, and we want to catch up to Will and Elizabeth _before _they get off the city."

I nodded at her, pulling other weapons out of the crate, just in case. A new rifle for Will; I might as well come with presents. "Alright, let's get a move on."

We wandered through the deserted factory for quite some time, looking for any traces of conflict or anything that might show where the pair had gone. We couldn't find anything, though. "Are you sure they got dropped off at this building? They could be at one of the many other Finkton Factories."

"That's . . . That's true. I didn't consider that. If there was a ship nearby, I could check our coordinates. . . I know where I dropped them off on a map, at least." She chewed on her lip and scratched her chin, racking her brain to remember.

I sighed. "There's a ship coming into dock right ahead-" I pointed towards it, and all the cargo on it. There seemed to be a problem on the decks. "We could ask them, if you want."

Lucy shrugged. "I don't see what better to do." We stood at the dock and waited for it to come in. Shouts echoed across the skies, though I can imagine that's common. Boats in the sky might be just like boats down below, after all; sailors and their ships, getting rowdy and whatnot.

"Dirty stowaways!" was one of the things that stuck up above any other shout.

"Maybe they're in a bit too much trouble to be trifled with us," said Lucy, staring outwards.

I grabbed the sniper rifle I'd borrowed for Will and stared into the scope, looking for the source of the ruckus Most of the men were working as usual, if exchanging a few couple of shouts, but one man stood in the center of the deck, holding two people by the wrists.

Will and Elizabeth, more specifically.

"So that's why they're so frustrated. . ." I lowered the scope, nudging Lucy's shoulder. "We found 'em."

"They're on the boat?" She asked, tilting her head. "The image of Elizabeth sneaking onto a boat and stowing away just doesn't sound like her to me."

"Yeah, but either way, we better find a hiding place 'til they drop her off. Don't want to risk anything." I scanned the area, looking for somewhere we could hide; a stack of crates was the best I could find. I grabbed Lucy's arm and pulled her behind the wall of crates, and we waited in silence until the shouts weren't even five feet away.

"We won't be dealin' with no stowaways! Get your own ship," shouted a man with a thick accent.

"He reminds me of Paul," said a voice, which I instantly recognized as Will's. "Or Roger, I guess. Captain of a boat, generally not a nice person. The usual."

His accomplice, which was rather obviously Elizabeth, laughed at his remark. "You meet so many people when you're not around, you know?"

"Guess I do. So, what's next? Our ride's out. No ships around here I see us borrowing. . ."

_Now's as good a time as any. _I stood up from behind the crates and looked at them.

Will had a gun pointed directly at me as I stood up, and he obviously had for quite some time; his aim was precise. _He knew where we were hiding? _Elizabeth looked disgusted, and turned to run away, but Will grabbed her hand and held her in place, forcing her to face us. "Mr. DeWitt. Fancy meeting you here."

Lucy stood up after I did. "How did you know?. . ."

"Let's just say you breathe loud." He smiled, with no joy in his eyes, and tucked his gun aside. "So. I believe we have business to discuss."

"Look, Elizabeth, I know I tricked you-" I started to speak, but was interrupted.

"I don't care whether or not you tricked me." She stared at me with disgust, wounding me slightly. "You're a liar and a cheat, and I'm still going to Paris. You're welcome to join us, if you'd like."

"That wasn't the business proposition we discussed, Elizabeth," said Will with a sigh. "Look. We're going to Paris; there's nothing you can do that can change that, unless for some reason Elizabeth and Lucy want to go to New York. That's what I'm here for. Now, you're welcome to come along, and frankly, I'd like you to. I can help you with your debt problem and stop your employers from ever finding you." He wiped his hand through the air to indicate a clean slate. "Everything, gone. Wiped away, so to speak."

I grimaced at the "wipe away" part. "And how could you do that?"

"Let's just say I'm here for a similar reason to you, doing things similar to you. And I can let you piggyback onto my reason and avoid everything, as well as gain a happy new life. You just have to work with me."

I grimaced. "And?"

"Well, obviously, you can't take Elizabeth to New York." He turned to face the sky, with a click of his tongue. "You don't want to do that, though, do you? It's only a necessity. So if I tell my associates how instrumental you were in the success of this operation, they'll help you out with your debt issue. You might not be able to return to New York, but most of your problems will be settled. How's that sound?"

I couldn't lie; it sounded damn nice. I was only in New York at that point because I couldn't afford a way out of it and I needed the work. A free ride in Paris would be a dream come true for me, especially if I could spend it without any worries or regrets. This not only left me financially clean, but morally as well. How could I say no?

"I'll take you up on your offer," I said, "as long as you guarantee that your associates won't have anything wrong with it."

"I can probably guarantee that. They're people who appreciate redemption. Either way, if they have a problem with it, I'll side with you. You're a friend, Booker; that's more important than a job. So deal?"

He extended his hand, which I took and shook happily. "Deal." I turned to face Elizabeth, who looked relieved, but still upset.

She took notice to this. "Mr. DeWitt, I can't say I'm fond of you, but you're the one who got me out of my tower and it'd be untrue if I said I didn't owe you a little. So while I can't guarantee we'll get along well, I promise that we'll work together just as we did before."

Lucy smiled and clapped her hands together. "So the group is reunited! Now, what's next?"

"I've been meaning to ask that, myself, Booker," said Will. "Did the Vox get the airship?"

I nodded slowly, with a deep sigh. "Yeah, they did. So the only way to get it back is to get the Vox rebellions some weapons, which is what brings us to Finkton. Chen Lin, they said; gunsmith down here. You up for it?" I asked.

He shrugged. "While I don't want to overstay our welcome and run into any trouble," he said, a little more specifically than I would've liked, "I don't see what else we can do. So that's the plan." He smiled at Elizabeth radiantly, unlike the sarcastic ones he'd always worn before. "See? I told you it'd go well."

She smiled a similar smile, before we headed on our way.

"I guess that went well," said Lucy.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17: The Journal

Lucy's Perspective.

_So, all our ducks are back in a row and everything's sorted out. Everyone's getting along, to a degree, and we've all agreed on a desination and course of action. This ought to be fine._

Will sat down at a table and pulled out a map of Finkton we'd "liberated" from the factories. "Alright," he muttered, "where are we?"

Elizabeth pointed at the map. "We're right there," she said, pointing out the obvious, "and this Chen Lin man is deeper into the factory. So we need to get to there, and the only way to do that is to sign up to do some work for Fink."

"So we all just need to get jobs? Shouldn't be too hard," I said, with a light shrug.

"Unless someone thinks to, oh, I don't know, look at Booker's hand? Even if it's got the bandage over it, they'll certainly ask why. And anyone with half a brain would assume that he's covering the mark," said Will, with a matter of fact tone.

"You got any better ideas?" said Booker.

He sighed. "Unfortunately, no, I don't, so that's what we'll have to do." He folded up the map and stood up, sighing. "So what are we applying for?"

I shook my head. "You don't apply at Finkton. If they have work, they assign it to you; they don't care whether you want it or not, so to speak. If there's anything available, you do it."

"Got it. So is there a line?" asked Booker.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. A giant one. This is about the only place you can make money if you don't live in an upper-class section of town, so anyone with a family or themselves to feed has to work here." I sighed. "We'll be in line for a while."

"Then we'd best get over there," he said, with a sigh. "Come on, let's go." He tossed a rifle to Will, "Catch."

Will did just that. "Aww, you _do _care. You shouldn't have."

"But I did," he said. "Now let's carry on. We have to take the dock route and get to cargo transport if we don't want to have to take an airship though."

I took some extra time to observe Finkton as we walked around the docks. _This qualifies as work? _People's work day consisted of scrubbing crates, before they moved on in the assembly line, and then they scrubbed the other side of the next one. It might be easy, but I can imagine it'd get really boring after a significant amount of time.

We kept on our way, attracting little attention; that is, if anyone was allowed to look away from the job at hand here. No one seemed to care about anything.

We encountered a jam through the next door. One of the airship transports had crashed and spilled its load; vigors, by the looks of it.

"Hah!" Will shouted, getting a few glances from other people. "Wouldn't that have been useful a while ago?" He pointed at the primary contents of the spill; Shock Jockey.

"Shut up, Will, we've got to keep a low profile," Booker muttered, "but yes, I realize the irony."

"Excuse me, sir, could we help you with that?" Elizabeth asked the worker in charge of the crash.

"No, I couldn't make you do that. It's my job, anyways, and I'm only supposed to account for what was lost for the inventory. We have other people who're supposed to clean it up." He bowed to Elizabeth, "But I thank you for the offer."

She shrugged and continued on her way around the side of the destroyed crates, as did the rest of us. I kind of felt bad about not helping the man behind us, but it couldn't be helped, I suppose.

We rode the skylines that transferred the cargo to the recruitment center and jumped off around one of the darker corners. Will stretched the muscles in his shoulder, before standing straight and crossing his arms. "Well, do I look presentable?"

Elizabeth laughed. "I don't think they care, as long as you can do the work."

"And he's wearing a suit and everything," I said.

Booker led us out from behind the corner, and we saw several people with fully packed suitcases waiting outside with their families, talking about something or other. I didn't feel like intruding on their conversations to find out. The recruitment center was surprisingly well decorated: above the carved, wooden door, was a giant electronic sign with "Fink MFG" written on it, much like everything else here. _In we go, _I thought, as we walked inside.

Right inside, there was a giant statue of Fink and some children on his back. They all pointed forwards, and below it, in the same golden material that the statue was made out of, was the slogan: "THE FUTURE IS FINKTON" which we'd seen on a few posters around town.

"Someone's got an ego," whispered Will under his breath.

Elizabeth pointed at the far wall. "Look, Chen Lin's got an advertisement up here. We're getting closer."

"Not close enough," said Booker. "Fitzroy's not gonna' be happy until we've got her weapons for her."

"Fitzroy? As in Daisy Fitzroy?" Elizabeth tilted her head.

"Yeah, the only anarchist with a worse reputation than Booker's. She's the leader of the Vox Populi, right?" I asked, trying to make conversation.

"She's supposed to be some kind of scoundrel, but by the people, she does right. Or so they say."

"That's none of my concern," said Will. "My concern is getting down there. Now come on," he said, before leading us deeper into the building.

We entered a large room crowded with people. Men and women behind counters were absolutely swamped with questions and requests; they simply couldn't catch up. Something had the crowd riled up. We pushed through the crowd to get to the Main Elevator which was supposed to take you deeper down into Finkton. There was a painting on the wall above the sign of a man and his family smiling happily, which I guess was more propaganda. Stop people from knowing what they're getting into until it's too late.

"Welcome to Fink Industries! We are not looking for any help today! Hear that? No help!"

_I guess that's what got everyone so riled up. _An automation by the main elevators was shouting at the crowd about the lack of jobs that were available today. All these people had come here for work, and now there was no work to do. _We can't get in if there's no way to do that. _

". . . Well, that didn't go well," I said. "What now?"

"I guess we'll just invite ourselves in," said Booker. "Everyone, go look around for some kind of door inside."

We moved as a group through the mass of people, looking for some employee passageway. In the corner of the room there was a small stairway, which Booker was leading us towards. The crowd stayed away from it as if there was some bad omen locked below, but we didn't have any other options.

At the bottom of the stairs, there was a locked door. A sign next to it read "SERVICE ELEVATOR", so I assume it was used when there was no other method of transportation, or when the main elevator was broken.

Elizabeth crouched at the feet of the door and pulled a hairpin out from her ponytail. She began to work on the lock, while the rest of us stood guard.

"How's it coming along?" I asked.

Elizabeth smiled contentedly. "Already done," she said, leaning forwards in front of the door she had picked open.

"Our savior," said Will, with a light smile. "Shall we get a move on?"

We nodded unanimously and headed into the underbelly of Fink Recruitment. Will raised his finger, asking for silence; the darkly lit room probably had security in it, he was right. He sneaked over to the balcony and removed Booker's looted sniper rifle. He stared into the scope, and gestured for Booker to come forward as well. He made sure we were staying behind before he came over to the balcony. They whispered about strategies; what kind, I couldn't quite hear, but soon, Will had pulled the trigger and chaos broke out.

I heard a mechanical whir which sounded distinctly like the gears of one of those Motorized Patriots, and several policemen shouting about the deaths of their comrades. On cue, Will summoned a cloud of crows and Booker through a fireball into that very cloud, lighting them all on fire. They flew around the room, seeking their targets; pecking at policemen's eyes and flapping the flames down into their faces. It was almost comedic to watch until you realized it wasn't like one of the poorly animated cartoons you could see in propaganda, and people were actually getting their flesh ripped off.

Crows can't peck out the eyes of mechanical men, though; while everyone else flailed around miserably, the patriot scanned the room. His giant, wide eyes stared at a fixed spot in front of it as its head rotated, scanning the room for us. Booker and Will had picked an ultimately better strategic position; both were wearing dark colors and attacking only when necessary, so neither could be seen easily. Soon it started to fire at random spots around the room, probably targeting the crows, as if hurting them would accomplish anything; as I said, its devices were rather rudimentary when thoroughly examined.

Now that the chaos had somewhat subsided and the only remaining problem was the patriot, Will and Booker exited their hiding spot and stood on the balcony, waiting for the mechanical brute to attack them. As I'd seen the insides of its head, it usually didn't shoot until it was at a favorable angle and range, and most of those angles and ranges weren't more than ten feet away, so even after it spotted them, it started making its way towards the stairs.

They took their time to prepare traps; Booker set Shock Jockey on either side of the stairway and watched the electrical net form between them, while Will stared into scope and waited for the perfect opportunity to shoot it.

It slowly ascended the stairs, shouting things like: "The Lord judges, I act!" and other obscene, morale-boosting phrases. _Too bad there's no more morale to boost. . . _

It took a step into the Shock Jockey and started to vibrate furiously as the net of electricity engulfed it. Will fired at its head, causing the metal lid to shoot off, exposing the machine's infrastructure. He continued to fire at that until all that remained was a small peg and sparks started to shoot out of it. It could hardly detect anyone's presence anymore and started to swing around its crank gun randomly, hoping to make contact with something. Its efforts immediately stopped after Booker loaded a slug into its back, and into its gears. It stopped dead in its tracks and tumbled forwards, entirely dead.

"That was almost too easy, Booker. We're too good at this," said Will, swinging his rifle slightly. "I don't even know if it's fair."

Booker smiled, something that I rarely saw. "We are pretty amazing, but we could use a restock on salts. Elizabeth, I want you to keep an eye out. Got it?"

She nodded slowly and we descended the stairs.

The battlefield was now coated in the gore of the soldiers. Some were picked to the bone by the crows, and a few of the birds still sat on the ground, blood dripping off their beaks. I knew they were artificial, but they truly were frightening. The bright red eyes added to the aura of mysticism they produced, and the fact that they were picking the flesh off of corpses didn't help. Some of the corpses were more favored than others; usually, the burnt ones were ignored.

"Hey," said Elizabeth, snapping me out of my observations. "There's an office over here. Maybe we can find something that'll help us out down below."

Booker shrugged and took it into consideration. I couldn't tell whose office it was; the crows had actually made a nest out of the desk. _They work fast. _Soon enough, though, they all disappeared, leaving behind a few jet black feathers and nothing else. Behind the desk was a silver safe with golden lining and a similarly colored lock. Elizabeth set to work on it immediately after stepping into the room.

"Look at this," said Will, holding up a wanted poster.

"Chen Lin, wanted for known connections to Daisy Fitzroy and the Vox Populi," read Elizabeth. "Looks like he's gotten into some trouble with the Founders."

"Which means he's all the more likely to help us," said Booker. "That's not a bad thing for us, unless they get there first."

Will was staring at three golden statues of Fink in the corner of the office. "Okay, I'm starting to notice a trend; Columbian leaders spend more resources building statues of themselves than they do improving the town. I mean, I've seen at least fifty of Comstock since I arrived here and thousands of Fink since we walked into this damn factory. How does that work?"

I shrugged. "Maybe it makes them feel better about themselves."

"Note to self: If I'm ever rich, I need to make a chain of Will statues and force everyone to stare at them every time they turn around," said Will sarcastically.

"That's probably not a good business move," said Elizabeth. "But feel free."

He shrugged. "Worth a shot."

Booker took some more time to rifle through the desk, looting Silver Eagles and whatnot. Elizabeth cracked open the safe behind him, and her mouth gaped. "Will, I have a feeling that you might be able to afford those statues. We're rich."

The inside of the safe was filled with golden and silver bars, along with bags and bags of silver eagles.

We all whistled lowly, staring at it.

"Lucy, put the bars into your purse. Booker and I can carry the eagles, and Elizabeth can grab a few." Will formulated a plan and immediately set to collecting the money.

"You know, it's kind of funny," I said, "that we find all of this money and we barely ever shop with it. I mean, Will saved himself thanks to a vending machine once, but other than that, none of us have ever used one. And we wouldn't really shop anywhere else, even if we were allowed to."

"I guess that's true," said Booker, "but you never know when you're really going to need it, and it helps to have when you do. Not to mention I'm sure we can trade in all the silver and gold once we get down below and make a real livin' for ourselves," he said, with a snicker.

"That's true. I bet we can afford a whole floor of hotel rooms with all of this," said Will.

"I don't know about that, but it'll help."

We finished stuffing our pockets with money and turned around to access the service elevator. "You know," said Will, "I don't think Fink will appreciate the job we've done."

"And what job is that?"

"Clean up." He was referring to the safe, of course.

"I don't think that matters to us." Booker pressed the button to call the elevator from down below.

Elizabeth stood on the other side of the room, staring into a book she'd just picked up. "This . . . This is Slate's locker."

"Slate? As in Cornelius?" Will asked.

"Yeah. . . He must have worked here," she said, her voice surprisingly distant.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Th-This is my mother's diary. . . Why would he have this?"

"Well, what's it say that's got you in such a funk?" asked Booker, as gracefully as could be.

"My husband claims that the child was created from whole cloth and divine will," she read aloud. "I am a believer, but I am not a fool. . . His . . ." She cringed. "Bastard. . . Shall not be raised under this roof." She held back a tear or two as she read it.

A moment of silence echoed through the room. "My mother. . . " she continued. "_She _had me locked in that tower. . ."

"Elizabeth, c'mon, don't be so torn up about it," started Will. "I think we all realize that your parents aren't the nicest people, and . . ."

"I just want to get off of this city. Please," she said, before leaving the rest of us in silence. She hopped on the elevator and stood against the wall with her arms crossed. Will walked in next and stood next to her, offering an arm of comfort, which she accepted. Booker and I arrived last, and he pressed the "DOWN" button.

"Greetings, humble worker! My name is Jeremiah Fink, and I want to share with you my personal creed!" An automated voice spoke to us from above, echoing throughout the elevator. Elizabeth pulled away from Will and we all stared at the glass panel that made up the glass wall. "What is the most admirable creature on God's green Earth? Why, it's the bee! Have you ever seen a bee on vacation? Have you ever seen a bee take a sick day? Well, my friends, the answer is no! So I say, be... the bee! Be the bee!"

As it spoke, the usual billboards of propaganda drifted by, displaying Fink's personal creed in textual format. "That's control in its purest form. And people actually fall for that kind of stuff? I only have to stand in this room for a few minutes to realize he's a che-"

The elevator abruptly stopped as Will spoke, causing us all to shake visibly. After a moment the phone started to ring. Booker leaned over and answered it.

"Uh. . . Hello?"

"Mr. DeWitt and company, yes?"

"Uh, yeah," he said, replying to the female voice.

"Hold for Mr. Fink, please," she said, before leaving.

Then, Fink's voice, this time much less automated, echoed through the elevator. "DeWitt? Fink. Listen, my boy, we've had our eye on you for quite some time now, and I can tell you that you are our _top _candidate. Top!" He shouted, with the usual voice of enthusiasm. "Now, my associate, Mr. Flambeau, will help you with anything you need. . ." The phone cut off at the end of his sentence.

"What the hell was that?" muttered Elizabeth.

"Ooh, good girl. Language," said Will, sarcastically.

"Damned if I know," said Booker.

"He seemed oddly pleased to make your acquaintance," she said, pacing back and forth.

"Booker's got a fan, it would appear," I said.

"Well can you blame him?" Will gestured to Booker. "Not only is he devilishly handsome, I don't know a man more social than he is!"

Even Booker laughed at that part, which I found rather odd. "Yeah, right, let's just get this over with," he said, drawing his shotgun from his back. The glass wall in front of us revealed another scene; a giant, absolutely huge, statue of Fink. Maybe a hundred times the size of a body.

"Okay," said Will, "I want to know how much that costed. In Silver Eagles, dollars, I don't care, I just need to know how much that costed. That's insane."

Booker let out a low whistle.

Fink's automated voice came up on the speaker once again. "Now, some say to me, 'Fink, is it you pay us in tokens that are only good at the company store?'" The scene in front of us shifted to one of workers getting out of shoddy beds inside the tower. All they had to sleep on was wooden framework with an animal skin. On the floor below that, they were running, most likely for exercise. Most of them had weary eyes and panicked expressions. "Well, I'll tell you what: I'll be damned if I'd let any of you poor folk get robbed at some shady establishment."

"This establishment's pretty shady," I said.

"You see," the automated Fink continued, "the Fink company store gets you Fink company products! At a price designed specifically for you, the Fink worker." The voice cut off and the door in front of us opened.

"Mr. DeWitt," said a man with long, perfectly brushed hair. "You'll find many supplies here that should see you through your visit."

Elizabeth stepped forward. "What does Mr. Fink want with us?"

"It's not what he wants with _all __of you,_" the man said, "Mr. Fink's interest is strictly in the gentleman here." He gestured to Booker, who rifled through some of the crates set out in front of him. He pulled out a rusty hand cannon.

"Pfft. Sally puts that rust-bucket to shame," Will said, twirling the aforementioned gun on his finger.

The man by the door seemed rather irritated by this. "I assure you that the weapons put in front of you were hand-picked by Mr. Fink himself and will serve you to the best of their abilities, in any tier of weapons they can be placed in."

"Hah. I'll keep Sally, thanks," said Will, before going to wait by the door.

Booker tossed the hand cannon back into the crate and shrugged, walking past the attendant and waiting for the door to open.

"Does this strike you as good news?" asked Elizabeth. "It doesn't strike me as good news."

The door opened, revealing Finkton in its finest.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18: The Gunsmith

Elizabeth's Perspective.

The sounds of the factory echoed through the streets as we stepped out of the elevator and into Finkton's main facilities. Everything was littered and disturbed, and disgruntled people stood at all corners, complaining about work. _This place looks absolutely miserable. . . _

The largest mass on the streets was gathered around some kind of stage, and there was an announcer in a striped jacket, much like the ones they wear at carnivals. "I need a coal porter that can do the job in less than twenty minutes! Twenty minutes, starting bid!"

"Fifteen!" shouted a man from the crowd.

Another called after him. "Ten!"

"We've got ten minutes," called the announcer. "Can I get nine? Nine minutes for the job?"

"Eight minutes!" called a colored man near the front row, in an aggravated tone.

I leaned to the side and asked, "What are they doing?"

Lucy responded. "I know what they're doing. My dad used to work down here; basically, they don't get assigned work. Someone tells them what's available and they bet on who can do it the quickest. Whoever says they can do it in that time gets to do it, and they get the money, provided they do it in the available time. Otherwise, they don't get any of their payment and might receive a small penalty and lose out on opportunities to work in the future."

I grimaced slightly. "Is that really how work should be done?"

The man on the podium interrupted me. "Alright, five and fifty! Going once. . . Going twice! Five and fifty it is! Coal porter, to the man in the blue shirt!" he shouted, after having sold the job.

Then another job was offered up; "I need some pipe work done over on Pearl street! Lots of water, but lots of pay! Starting bid, as usual, at twenty minutes! Can I get fifteen?"

"I'll match fifteen!" called a man in a green shirt and ragged overalls.

"Fifteen minutes, can we get fourteen? Fourteen minutes?"

A man matched his offer and eventually it lowered to eight minutes.

"Eight minutes. . . Going once, going twi-"

"I can do the job in six minutes!" called the man in the green shirt. "Six minutes!" The sheer desperation was almost frightening.

"Six minutes. . . Going once. . . Going twice? Sold! The man in the green shirt, pipe work it is!"

"God dammit, no!" shouted the colored man at the front of the crowd. He turned around and slammed his fist into green-shirt's face, sending him flying to the ground. He started to throw punches and kicks in his direction repeatedly. The scene in front of me was horrendous; _people can be lowered to this level by a simple job? That's insane._ He beat him up until the point that there was blood on the ground, and all anyone did was watch.

After the man had been thoroughly beaten, the colored man spat on him. "I need this job," he said, before running to the elevator.

"Now _that's _a Fink man!" shouted the announcer, as if recommending that course of action. "An efficient man!"

"That's horrible. . ." I muttered, while Booker stared.

"No more work for today! No more jobs! You may disperse," said the man on the stands, before he departed.

People rioted after that. They threw things at the stage, shouting "I need work! My family's going to starve!" Eventually, the cops came down and wrestled away anyone giving them trouble, leaving two people; The man who had just been beaten, and a woman kneeling next to him.

Will grimaced visibly and stepped forward, kneeling next to her. "Need some help?"

She flinched. "Wh-What?"

"You know, need some help? That guy did quite a number on your husband."

"Uh. . . Yes, I could use some help. . . B-But. . ." She stared at him as if God himself had just taken a seat next to her.

"Don't worry, I'm new to town. Not one of those Finkton people. This won't get you in any trouble, just let me help him. You got a home?" he asked, hoisting the injured man's arm over his shoulder and helping him up.

"O-Of course, right over there. . ." She pointed to a door in a dark alley, with the same beige walls and run-down structure as everything else unimportant. "But why?"

"He needs to lay down and get some rest. I'll make sure there's no bleeding and then I'll be on my way, if it's all the same to you."

She nodded furiously and led him to the house. "R-Right this way," she said, helping him inside.

Booker whistled. "Will, doing a good deed. That's a first."

"What makes you think he doesn't do nice things? _You _didn't offer to help," I said, my words leaving my lips before my brain had considered them. I couldn't even process how defensive that probably sounded.

He raised his hands. "Whoa, calm down. I don't think I saw you do anything either."

Lucy clapped her hands and stepped between us. "Calm down, both of you. Fighting won't get us anywhere. You two just need to make up." She crossed her arms and took a step back, expecting us to say something and make amends I wasn't going to go first, though.

We stood there in silence for the longest time, staring at different parts of the town. Specifically, the clock tower in front of us; though I don't think it could be called a clock. The upper semi-circle had "WORK" written on it in giant font, and in parts a third that size, there were other things, like sleep, or breaks. A full day of work, and a little bit of time to do the things necessary, like eat, or sleep. _I don't think this qualifies as employment._

I heard a bell ring as Will walked out the door of the woman's house, her running behind him. "Thank you," she said. "How could I ever repay you?"

"I got one thing in mind," he said, before reaching into his back pocket. He pulled out all of his earnings from the safe, compiled them into one bag full of eagles and bars, and dropped it in her hand. "Give that to your husband and those two adorable kids I saw in there."

She checked the contents of the bag and nearly dropped it, yelping slightly. "Wh-What kindness is this?. . ."

"It's this kindness." He smiled radiantly at her. "Don't bother trying to repay me; I'm skippin' town soon, so I might as well find some place to put the currency. You seem like a fine investment. Now go get back to your husband, before he wakes up; you want to be there with his surprise, don't you?"

"O-Oh, sir, this is incredible. . . I'll never forget this." She ran off, waving behind us.

"Just tell your husband to take as long as he needs," he shouted after them.

I stared at him, completely shocked by the display of utter selflessness. "Will, that was incredibly kind of you," I said, almost breathlessly. "You just gave all of that away. . . Wasn't that yours for down below?"

He shrugged. "I've always gotten by. I'll still get by. They need it more than I do, that's for sure." He smiled at me. "What, should I go back to being a narcissistic ass? Would you like that?"

I laughed at him. "No, I don't think you ever were like that."

"Then I guess I didn't convey it well enough. I've always thought myself to be like that." He cleared his throat, ending the refined and emotional moment. "Now, we've got a gunsmith to find."

Lucy and Booker stared at us awkwardly. "Right," they said. "I took the liberty of finding him," continued Booker. He pointed at a door in the side of the clock tower, with "CHEN LIN: GUNSMITH" posted by the side of the door. "He's right in there. Shall we be going?"

We all nodded unanimously and entered the building ahead of us.

Inside the tower, before actually entering his home, there was a building filled with crates and a secretary's desk where people could sign in for appointments with Chen Lin. Surprisingly organized, considering all he does is make weaponry. Then again, that's probably an important trade nowadays, what with the Vox Populi uprising looming over society.

No one was around, though. There was no sign of Chen Lin leaving; it wasn't "EATING" time, according to the giant clock, and he hadn't left any note about not being around. I started to get a bad feeling.

We entered the actual building, now, seeing a circular furnace burning brightly, as if recently stoked. On either side of it there were mountains of coal, with vigors - Devil's Kiss, more specifically - piled up in it.

"I guess he uses those to do work," I said. "You know, light the fire, heat the metal."

"If grenades are good for that," said Booker. "Now come on, we need to get upstairs."

Immediately at the top of the stairway, there was a shrine. Lanterns floated around, suspended from the ceiling, and flowers adorned the walls. "Oh, I know who this is." I immediately recognized the statue in the middle of the flowers and wreaths.

"Go 'head and give us the history lesson, then," said Booker, nonchalantly scrubbing his shotgun.

"That's Gautama Buddha; the founder of Buddhism. They say he sat under a Bodhi tree for forty-nine days until he reached spiritual enlightenment."

"How do you think Comstock feels about idols being worshiped that aren't him?"

Lucy shrugged. "Bad, probably."

Will stared at the statue, in deep thought. "If only it was as easy to cleanse a soul as that," he muttered, expecting it to be inaudible. I figured I might as well ignore it if he didn't want it to be heard.

We continued on our way upstairs and eventually arrived at the top floor. It was what I might've expected from a weapon craftsman's place of work. Vaguely recognizable tools, work stations, and metal bars and cylinders cast about in random positions. The surprising part, though, was that every bit of paperwork in the room had been ripped up and scattered about the room. All the machinery was either broken or otherwise vandalized, and anything that Lin had was gone.

"What happened here?" I asked.

I heard something before anyone answered, though; footsteps on the stairways below us, creating a tinny echo. We slowly descended the stairs, weapons at the ready, expecting security or something, but what we found was a homely Chinese woman knelt in front of the Buddha's statue, crying into her clasped hands. _That must be Chen Lin's wife._

"Uh. . . Miss?" asked Booker, a confused look on his face. "Miss?" he repeated.

She started to sob furiously after she noticed our presence. "Hey, ma'am, please calm down. . ." I said, a hand on her shoulder. "Are you Missus Lin?" I asked, trying to sound as caring as possible.

"Y-Yes. . . I miss Lin," she said. _Her English must not be that good. _

"We're looking for your husband. Do you know where he is?"

"Th-The Flying Squad. They take Chen Lin away. Take him to Good Time Club," she said, all the while crying, making it even harder to understand. Her accent was really thick.

"Who's the Flying Squad?" I asked.

Booker replied. "The police. They took him down to the club." He sighed. "Could you tell us where this Good Time Club is?"

She gave no answer. He repeated himself, but still, she remained silent. Lucy put a hand on Booker's shoulder. "Just leave her alone and give her some time to process this. We've got to go get Chen Lin," she said, a bright smile on an otherwise weary expression. Booker sighed and nodded, admitting she was right, before we went back down the stairs and into the streets of Finkton.

"I guess the search for the Good Time Club begins," said Will. "Ironic name, considering someone's imprisoned there. Unless they're just treating him to dinner and a show,"

"which is unlikely," I continued.

"Right. So I guess we just keep looking."

After a good half hour or so of scanning the streets, we came across a police blockade, and behind it, a giant, neon sign that said "GOOD TIME CLUB". _Just our luck: The place we need to be is blocked off from the public. Isn't that how it usually works? _I groaned. "Getting in illegally again?"

Booker nodded. "Bingo." He pulled out his rifle and shot the Founder in the head without a second thought.

And then, as usual, after the first shot is fired, chaos broke loose. Will summoned some crows and let them go to work on everyone, and Booker pulled out his shotgun and charged into the crowd. They loaded bullets into everyone while Lucy and I supplied them with extra weapons and salts when they needed them. Will was obnoxiously fond of those vigors: I guess you develop an affection for something after it saves your life.

I blushed at that thought, for a reason I couldn't discern.

But then, I heard loud thumps coming from above me. . . Rhythmic beats on the walls, like the sounds you hear when a parade is a few hundred feet away, but not far enough that you can't feel the beating on the drums.

Lucy shrieked and shouted, "Handy-Man!"

_I suppose that was the source of the noise._ From the street we had just walked down, the lumbering beast came running. I can understand why Will had so much trouble with it; it looked as if it could snap a man's bones with two of its fingers. "False Shepard!" it shouted, running straight towards Booker. He turned around and shot at it, but not even the force of a shotgun's blast was enough to make it waver. It slammed its fist into him and he was sent flying through the air, and fell with a thud.

"Booker!" Lucy and I said, at the same time.

It ran towards him and leaned over him, the Founders around it laughing at Booker's expense. That is, until crows started to peck at their eyes. Some of them flew towards the handy man and started to peck at its head, distracting it long enough for Booker to catch a breath or two and get away. "Puny birds!" it shouted, grabbing several of them out of the air. Of course, they just dissolved into a black mist, but it made the thing feel better.

Will took several shots at the Handy-Man, bullets smacking against its armor. Only a few of them pierced its mighty shell, and those had no evident effect on it. It was a mobile fortress. Will snapped his fingers and began executing his plan, now that Booker was out of danger. Will blasted the beast with water before he ran at the Handy-Man from behind it and put Sally to a certain part of its back. It might have been a giant brute stronger than anything known to man, but it wasn't very fast, nor could it react very well. Will started to load bullets into its back, and I saw them coming out the front, along with a transparent, yet slightly colored liquid, along with chunks of flesh. I then realized that he'd shot its heart out, and it collapsed immediately, the mechanical sounds from inside dying down.

The rest of the Founders hadn't given up yet, but seeing the loss of their greatest military creation crumple to a pile of metal garbage surely wasn't very morale boosting. They all ran behind the corner of the Clock Tower, surely to form a defensive perimeter.

"I'm going on ahead," he said. "Feel free to join me once you're ready, Booker."

Booker shook his head slightly. "I can't get this ringing out of my ears," he said.

"Don't worry," Will shouted. "It dies down soon enough; I should know." He laughed slightly. "Elizabeth, keep an eye out for me from behind this corner. I might need a few tears here and there."

I nodded silently. "Got it," I said, before taking a stance by the corner so I had a good enough view but wasn't in any immediate danger. He walked forward nonchalantly with one hand in his pocket and the other on his gun, waiting for the Founders to spring whatever trap they had. He took several steps forward until he was in the middle of a crossroad, one side leading to the Good Times Club and the other leading to a Clock Shop. He stood there with his arms wide, waiting for some kind of threat.

He flinched slightly as tarps flew off of some objects which I soon recognized to be turrets stacked on top of crates. They glowed green, then yellow, and then red, now that they'd found their target. Will dived behind a row of crates right next to the Clock Tower, now completely unable to escape. "Booker, he needs help!" I shouted.

"He'll be there in a minute!" replied Lucy, who was crouched at his side. He coughed several times before standing up, and I returned my attention to Will.

Three Founders stood in front of the wall of crates, laughing as the bullets slammed into them. They all pulled out batons and smacked them against their hands, laughing about how they were going to enjoy this. I saw Will pull out his knife and close his eyes, waiting for them to attack.

As soon as one of them stepped behind the wall, Will jammed the knife through his throat, piercing his spine. His eyes went wide and he fell to the ground, completely lifeless in every way, other than the blood pouring out of his neck. His friends noticed his death, of course, and rounded the corner. These two were smarter than their friend, though; as soon as they turned the corner, they slammed their clubs down, one hitting Will in the ribs. He reached into his pocket, grabbed Sally, and killed them right then and there. They dropped dead with bullets in the side of their head.

Lucy and Booker were handling the turret threat, so I ran behind the wall of crates and knelt next to him. "Are you okay?" I asked, a look of concern glued to my face.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, with a light grimace. "Gonna' have a bruise in the morning, but hey, better than being dead."

I nodded at his comment. The gunshots in the background made this a strange place to have a conversation. I cleared my throat, trying to eliminate the aura of awkwardness in the area. "So. . ." I started, before I heard Booker's voice.

"Hey, you two! I'm done out here!" he shouted, the area now eerily silent.

"Right," I called, before standing up. "Need some help, Will?" I extended my hand, which he took, and I helped him up.

"Thanks, Elizabeth," he said. "Now. Let's go have us a good time in this Good Time Club, shall we?"


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19: The Club

Elizabeth's Perspective.

I walked alongside Booker on the streets of Finkton, scavenging for supplies and ammunition. Will phrased it as: "Sally's parched, and so am I. We need to be prepared before we head in there; who knows what Fink's got planned."

So I walked next to him in silence, clasping my hands behind my back and scanning the streets. Nothing came up that I could see; no ammunition for Sally, at least, but Booker was finding enough to outfit himself with.

He picked up a carbine and shoved a clip into it. "This ought to work," he said, a slight smile on his face. "Think so?"

I nodded slightly, trying to avoid getting into conversation. I still felt uncomfortable around him, as if he'd knock me unconscious and take me to New York at any minute.

He sighed. "Look, I know we had that problem in the past," he said, evidently reading what I had thought, "but we don't need to be enemies. It won't happen again."

I shrugged. "I-I guess that's true. . . But you still lied to me. I don't appreciate that."

He sighed. "We can still get along, can't we? You and Will get along just fine, and he didn't tell you the whole truth."

"_He _didn't plan to sell me. But I see what you mean."

He nodded slowly. "So, can we just drop the whole hating each other thing and get along, for the mission's sake? I'll make it up to you once we get off this place."

"And?. . ." I didn't have to torment him, but I wanted to hear the words from his lips. _I'm. . ._

"I'm glad that we came to that conclusion."

"But you're. . ." I continued gesturing, now enjoying the practice.

He groaned. "I'm _sorry. _Does that make you feel better now?"

I grinned and spun childishly. "It does. Now, let's get a move on! Pick up something for Will and let's get back to the Good Time Club."

We scanned through shops and around streets for quite some time, looking for anything Hand-Cannon related. Nothing came up, though. Everything was absolutely deserted; no workers were around. I guess a firefight can do that to a place.

After hours of circling through the city and staring at unnerving messages from Fink which had unnerving messages from the Vox Populi on them, we arrived at the front of the Good Time Club, where Lucy and Will were waiting. The former clasped her hands behind her back, while the latter stared at the door, his hand in his pocket and the other on his gun, as usual. "'Bout time you two got back," he said, staring at us from under the rim of his hat. Sometimes, he was really strange.

"We didn't find anything for Sally," I said, but Lucy held up a box of hand-cannon rounds.

"Don't worry, we handled it," she said, a large smile on her face. They both looked rather unnerved for some reason.

"Something happen?" I asked.

Lucy opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing. Will raised his hand and waved me off, "It's nothing. Just a little visit," he said.

"From who?" asked Booker.

"Nobody," he said, with a snap. "Let's get inside, come on."

I stared at the Good Time Club. It looked like any theater I'd seen before on the outside, electronic signs above the door spelling out the name in an urban font, and listings of what was to happen today. All it said was "CLOSED FOR INTERVIEW". _Who was getting interviewed? _

Booker pushed open the door and led us inside, his hand always on his gun. The room was well decorated as well; two benches on the far side of the room, a nice carpet, and well painted walls, but it didn't look like it should have. The vending machine that sold tickets stood with its arms waving around in the air, yelling about Lions and Shows and whatnot in an odd manner, and in front of it, a pool of blood and a hat sitting in it, drenched in the material.

"Looks like we're not the first ones to get here," said Lucy, her eyes wide at the display in front of her. It hadn't soaked into the floor yet, which meant it was fresh.

Fink's voice crackled on over the PA. "Ah, DeWitt, my boy! You know," he said, with a chuckle, "The best kind of interview is one where the applicant doesn't know he's being evaluated!"

Booker slammed his face into his palm.

"I've been watching you, my boy, since that other day at the lottery! And I tell you, you're just the man I've been looking for! A brute!"

"You know, is it just me, or do people tend to notice Booker more than me?" asked Will.

Fink ignored him, though. "Labor unrest is coming, Booker, and Fitzroy's got the jungle all riled up!" His puns were starting to irritate me.

I looked upwards and my eyes widened as I saw the man hung from the clock in the middle of "GOOD TIME", his blood dripping onto the floor. Lucy looked up as well and made a similar expression to mine upon seeing the lacerated man.

"A man like me could have use of an old Pinkerton like you," said Fink, striking a nerve.

"Dammit. . ." He cursed under his breath, and we ascended the spiral staircase.

We ended up in a giant theater with booths and tables all around it, and four large boxes on stage. Above the stage, there was a giant, blue, electronic sign that said "FINK MFG," just like all the other ones.

"Let's just find Chen Lin and get out of here," said Booker, obviously irritated.

"Now, now!" shouted Fink over the PA. "I just ask that you finish what you started! You wouldn't want to disappoint the other applicants, after all, would you?"

"Applicants for what?" asked Lucy.

Fink ignored her, just as he had Will. _I guess his interest is only in the gentleman, after all._

Fink's face appeared on a giant monitor beneath the sign, showing his usual pose; staring down at everyone. We descended the stairs as he spoke and stepped onto the stage, between all of the bright blue boxes. "Our first applicant is a veteran of Peking. . . What's that they say about old soldiers?" He laughed. "Frankly, my money's on you! He's something of an old hand with explosives. Hasn't lost a limb working with them . . . yet."

The curtain raised and out came several men in suits along with a Fireman in standard Fireman attire, whatever you could call that. They were all armed with machine guns and some remained behind the curtain, firing bullets through it and hoping to kill Booker before he'd even seen them. Of course, he wasn't an idiot; he set up Shock Jockey traps along both sides of the curtain, and everyone who stepped out got electrocuted. Then the arc connected to someone else and the process repeated, all while Booker and Will were shooting at them.

Their heads exploded and the once bright-blue curtains were dyed red in some places, but the Fireman wasn't giving up as easy as the rest of them had. He continued hurling fireballs at us, hoping some of them would explode with us nearby. One of them rolled straight down between our group and we dived off the stage, landing underneath some booths and watching the explosion. Will ran out from the table besides me and hopped up on the stage, spinning Sally on his finger.

"One for the money," he said, before dousing the Fireman with water. He tried to hurl one of his flaming grenades, but he couldn't momentarily. "Two for the show," he shouted, before summoning some ravens which started to peck at the Fireman's suit. "Three to get ready," he said, before stabbing the Fireman through the leather part of his suit.

Then, Booker appeared behind him as Will dived out of the way, and Booker loaded a shotgun slug into the back of his head. "And four to go."

"Now that is what I call showmanship! Even witty enough to come up with a punchline to use, I like that. Good job! You're exceeding every expectation, my boy!"

Lucy groaned. "Can we just get on with it?"

"Ooh, someone's a little impatient! Now, this next candidate is a former devotee of Lady Comstock. But now that she's not around anymore . . . well, they have no idea what to do with themselves!" Behind us, the spotlight shifted to a spot on top of the crate and one of the Order of the Crow people with the black robes, coffins, and swords appeared. Booker pumped his shotgun and aimed down the sights, before blasting at the figure.

His entry was turned from graceful and mysterious to pathetic and embarrassing as he tumbled off the crate after Booker fired at him. He fell off the stage, as well, before disappearing into a cloud of black smoke. Then, the rest of the Comstock devotees arrived from hiding spots around the theater, completely surrounding us.

"Booker?" said Will, "I'll leave this one to you," he said, before pulling his rifle of his back and aiming down the sights. While he monitored the scope, Booker and Lucy kept watch over the stairs. Lucy always had her pipe at the ready, swinging at the heads of anyone stupid enough to try to ascend the stairs, and Booker watched the other side, shooting anyone equally as foolish.

"Elizabeth," shouted Lucy, "tear up there, please!" On the far end of the stage there was a turret we could use. I nodded and pulled it into this world, while Lucy set to work on fixing it. She whistled a little while she worked, but the chaos made that sound completely out of place.

"Booker!" Will shouted, "Set up a Shock Jockey by the stairs!" Will started to blast the area with water, soaking everyone on that side of the theater. Booker nodded and hurled a bolt of electricity out of his fingers, and I watched the light show. The entire theater lit up with blue light as everyone in the range of the water started to shake furiously. After that, they all crumpled to the ground, dead.

Now for the other side. Lucy had finished her work on the turret and it started to load slugs into cover and enemies alike, just as I expected from her. Will pulled out Sally and fired at anyone who peeked their head out of cover, and Booker sat back, rifle always at the ready. The turret cleared the area quickly, and several people just ran out the doors to the theaters, completely and entirely unwilling to face us.

"Excellent work, DeWitt and company! Your ability to improvise is incredible." He laughed. "Now, your _true _rival is an expert with machines. . ."

Lucy chuckled. "Should be a piece of cake."

"Oh, don't be so confident, miss! Now, he wants to replace all of our security with machines! Automata!" The spotlights on the stage flickered to all the boxes, three in front of us and the large one behind us.

"Booker, lay Shock Jockey traps around all the boxes. Entangle them in a net," said Lucy, before they were even opened.

After the traps had been lain, for the most part, they did open though. The boxes folded aside to reveal two turrets planted on the stage, two of the flying turrets, and behind us, in the largest box, an automated patriot modeled to look like George Washington, as most of them were. Fink laughed hysterically as we dived off the stage to avoid the hail of bullets and took cover in one of the bars.

The patriot tried to move, but every time he did so, he was shocked back into place. It took him a while to register that the Shock Jockey was the cause, and he started to shoot it with their signature crank gun. The flying turrets circled around in the air; that is, until Booker and Will starting shooting holes in the balloons that kept them suspended. They started to spiral out of control, and finally, crash down into the floor, creating a miniature explosion.

The turrets on the stage scanned the area with yellow spotlights, trying to find us. Will and Booker blasted them with Undertow and Shock Jockey, respectively, before taking time to load rounds into them while the Patriot was occupied. If everything went well, all the machines would be dead before the Patriot even got out of his net, and nothing would be a problem.

Of course, it's never that easy, though. The Patriot jumped over the Shock Jockey and off the stage, running towards Booker and Lucy. "Booker, you know the drill," she shouted, before diving to the side. He did, of course; he blasted it with Shock Jockey, leaving it immobilized for a short time. She started to beat on its gears with the pipe while Will handled the turrets on stage, dancing from aisle to aisle and shooting them with Sally. Soon, all the gears had been bent or broken, and the Patriot started to fidget.

"Get down!" She yelled, and once again, fireworks started in the theater.

What had once been a beautiful, showy place for production and fun was now a completely destroyed battlefield. Where the machines had exploded, there were small, open flames and singed or entirely destroyed tables. The walls were riddled with bullets, and there were corpses and scorch marks everywhere. We really new how to throw a party.

And now, the not-so-metaphorical fireworks started. On either side of the stage, sparks flew up, and curtains dropped saying "CONGRATULATIONS" in the same font that composed the "FINK MFG" sign above the curtain.

"Congratulations, Mr. DeWitt!" shouted Fink from over the PA. He laughed slightly. "You know, DeWitt, when your name was first passed to me, I wasn't quite sure you were the man for the job. But now, I realize that I was certainly wrong! And your friends aren't that bad, either; We can get them all hired, if it's a deal-breaker I just know that Fink Industries is the place for you!"

"We're not interested in your offer, Fink," said Booker, hoping it reached him.

He laughed, his tone taking on a more relaxed and conversational one. "Now, I know all about your little job for Fitzroy, but be serious! Would you really take her offer over mine? Do you know how many people would _kill _to be my Head of Security?"

"Evidently, everyone in this room or anyone that set foot in this room," said Will.

"Exactly! Now, I realize that you're a tough nut to crack, DeWitt, a tough nut, but don't worry. . ." His tone shifted again, this time from happy to dark. "I will get what I want." The voice shut off suddenly, leaving the room surprisingly quiet, other than the crackling of fires.

"Well. . . I suppose that was interesting," I said, with my arms crossed.

Booker shrugged. "I think we've all learned by now that Columbians aren't quite right in the head all the time." He pointed to the bar in the back of the theater. "Let's go take a look around, see if we can find anything."

At the back of the hallway was one of those video terminal things where you could watch some of Comstock's propaganda. I leaned forward into it, but didn't see the usual "The Word of Our Prophet Presents" message that I was so used to, but instead, "THE FIRST LADY - BY WILLIAM R. FOREMAN, 1909". It consisted of the First Lady airship drifting across a cloudy sky, with a happy family leaning on a railing and waving towards it.

"Will, it's one of your films," I said, enthusiastically. Someone walked towards me from behind, and I couldn't quite tell who.

"Huh," said Booker. "Should I go get him? He and Lucy are talking about something in the other room."

"Oh, you needn't do that. We're here," I heard Lucy say, as I watched the film.

"Our discussion's done," said Will, sounding unnerved like he had before. "What did you want to say?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm just watching your piece on the First Lady," I said, with a light laugh as the screen faded into a picture of Will's face. It wasn't terribly accurate, so I assumed it was some kind of painting.

"Oh, that one. That was the last thing I did before I left Columbia during that visit."

"I find it kind of odd," said Lucy, "that your entire career in the past revolved around photography, yet you're almost as good a killer as Booker here, who's an ex-military expert."

"Everyone's entitled to secrets," he said, with a light shrug.

That was a little ominous. I cleared my throat. "So, did you two find anything worthwhile?"

Will raised his hand. "Well, I found some fancy shield infusion that no one ever told me about. This thing's supposed to reflect bullets, and no one thought it wise to tell me?"

Booker inhaled deeply and Lucy remained silent. I tilted my head. "I thought you would've known about them, considering you've been up here before."

"I didn't, and I would've avoided countless bad situations if I'd known about it. Booker," he said, tilting his head and smirking slightly.

Booker smiled as well. "It's not like you needed it, anyways. You've been doin' fine without it."

Will shrugged. "Well now I've got one. Thanks for the information, Booker," he said, before patting him on the back. "Now. Where do you suppose we head?"

Lucy pointed towards the curtains. "Since none of these places headed anywhere, the only place I can think of going is backstage. So I guess we head there."

"Think that's where Chen Lin's being held?" asked Booker.

"Only one way to find out."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20: The Prison

Will's Perspective.

Ah, backstage. The wonderful world of show business where magic is made, yes?

Well, not today.

Our group of four walked behind the raised, blood-spattered curtains with two premonitions, the first being that this could go really well, and the other, much more popular one being that it would end in a disaster.

"Booker, there's a door over there," said Elizabeth, stating the obvious rather blatantly.

"I noticed," he said, before opening the aforementioned door.

At the bottom of the stairs that the door led us to, was the make up station where actors would sit and get all dolled up before they went to sing or dance or both. I admired myself in the mirror, trying to look as over-the-top as possible to maintain a humorous atmosphere for everyone. Unfortunately, it didn't work.

We continued our descent into madness, so to speak, exiting the make-up rooms and taking a flight of stairs down into the bowels of the facility.

And that's when things got _fun. _Sarcasm entirely intended.

The first thing I noticed was two security guards talking to one another. "Come on, Fran, you're a modern woman! It's nineteen _twelve," _he said, as if the emphasis on twelve made him appear more convincing.

"It'll be _two-thousand_ twelve before I'm interested in the likes of you," she said, shutting the room next to us into silence. I wasn't in it, but I could imagine some dirty looks were being exchanged.

I slowly began to descend the stairs with Sally at the ready, along with Lucy and her pipe. At the bottom of the stairwell, I got a better look into the room that Fran and friend resided in. In the center of the room, there were crates filled with posters for Fink, and along all the walls, there were posters for Fink. On the far side there was a "WANTED" board which I made a note to take a look at later. Other than that, it was a rather bland, blue and white room. Fran and friend stood on opposite sides of it, and I could see why she'd never be interested in the likes of him. He looked kind of disgusting, to say the least.

I stepped into the room and unloaded two of Sally's shots into them, causing them both to drop to the ground with fleshy masses that somewhat resembled heads at their side. "Safe to come in," I said, before approaching the wanted board on the far side.

Booker began rifling through the crates in the center of the room, pulling out Silver Eagles. "What's that?"

I scratched my chin. "How come I'm on the wanted list and no one else is?" I said, staring at the rather poor picture of me. They had my name correctly; or, at least, the first part of it, but everything else was rather inaccurate. According to the poster in front of me, I was bald, had a full, obnoxiously long beard, my eyes were the size of saucers, and my lips were eternally curled into an M-like shape. Odd. "Do I really look like that?"

Elizabeth laughed. "I guess you're on the list because of our run-in with security earlier, and the whole stowaway business. They _were _hunting you down, after all."

I shrugged. "I just want them to get it right next time." I ripped it off the board and turned it over. "Anyone feel like doing a sketch to show them what I really look like?"

"Enough fooling around, Will," said Lucy. "Chen Lin could be in some real trouble."

"That's . . . entirely correct. So down we go?" I asked, before my question was answered. Booker continued to lead us deeper down the stairs.

Next, we entered a room that could have been considered storage if it wasn't for the Prison Planner on the far side of the room. Most of it was cramped with crates and other storage units, but there was a blackboard with cell layouts and prisoners scribbled on it. Several names I didn't recognize adorned the list, only two appearing that I did know: C. Slate, in Cell 6, and Chen Lin, in Cell 9.

"Slate's here," I said, a hand in my pocket. "Think we should pay a visit?"

Booker shrugged. "Our priority is Chen Lin. If we need to see Slate to get to him, I guess it can't be helped, but it's not a necessity."

"Chen Lin's in 9, Slate's in 6." She gestured to the door behind us, which had a large, golden lock on it, much like all the other locked doors. _Fink really does make everything for everybody. _"Elizabeth, could you get to unlocking that?" she asked.

"Oh, right. I'll be done in a bit," she said, before running towards the door and setting to work on it with her hairpin.

"You know, if we pay Slate a visit, we might be able to bust him out. Maybe even get him some help, if he needs it. He'd do us a favor in return, wouldn't he?" I asked, watching Elizabeth work around the lock.

"Maybe," she said, before the metal dropped to the ground. "Done. Let's get going."

We continued onward into a room with a single projector, along with a chair and a few knives that were coated in dried blood. "Fitzroy, Daisy Fitzroy! Tell us what you know. . . Or should we bring Miss Lin in for company?" said the man behind the camera. _This is rather poor projection work, _I thought to myself.

The other man from the video sighed. "Dump some ice water on him. We got three more to bring in today, and he ain't sayin' anything."

I shut off the projector. "Looks like the folks down here couldn't get anything out of Chen Lin," I said, arms crossed.

"I imagine he thought that whatever these people could do to him, the Vox could make worse," said Lucy. "Or he just believed in the cause that much."

"It's not our place to judge," called Booker from outside. "Now let's keep going."

The next room was one of the cell blocks. "Oh, God," I said, pinching my nose. "It stinks down here, worse than a damned morgue. . ."

Elizabeth nodded slightly. "It smells terrible. . ."

"Ain't no privies down here," said Booker, in his usual nonchalant tone.

We passed the cells in chronological order. Four, then five, both with dead prisoners, both colored. Their cells were riddled with their own waste material. _Disgusting, _I thought, _but I've seen worse. Smelled worse, too. _

Then, we arrived at Cell number Six, were Slate was. We stopped in front of the door and stared at it. "Are we going in?" asked Elizabeth.

Booker sighed and started to spin the handle. "Guess so," he said, before opening the door.

In the room, there was a table. A single table. That was the entirety of the furniture. That table. Of course, the table wasn't alone. It was coated with blood, probably Slate's, as were the torture materials on top of them. Knives, embalming tools, bone saws. On the other side of the table, away from us, sat Slate, muttering nonsensical profanity under his breath. He stared at the table in front of him and breathed heavily. His clothes were completely bloodstained in every way. _Torture. _

"My . . . You were right, Booker. Sparing him was no mercy," said Elizabeth, her eyes partially wide.

"He's catatonic," I said. "Tortured into a state in which he can't even move or process his thoughts. It's usually a mental issue, though I guess it can be forced," I said, staring at Slate's new collection of scars. His head had was now completely raked with them.

"That's. . ." Lucy shivered and stepped outside. "I'll wait out here."

"Booker? What do you think we should do?" asked Elizabeth, her hands clasped behind her back.

"There's nothing we can do. He's already dead on the inside. Killing him won't solve that, and recovery wouldn't be possible. We should just leave him be and hope for the best," I said, as nonchalantly as possible. I'd seen this sort of thing happen before, closer to home than I like to admit, and seeing it here wasn't easy.

She nodded slowly and stepped outside at a similar pace.

Booker placed his hands on the table and grabbed the pistol on it, obviously contemplating what I thought he would contemplate. He asked, "Do you think I should do it?"

I shrugged. "Do what you want to do. It _is _what he wanted, after all. The only question is, does he deserve it?" I stepped outside of the room and closed the door, waiting for it either to open or to hear a gunshot. Neither came for quite some time, but then I heard the handle spin and the door open. I smiled at him. "Good."

So down we continued to go. Seven and eight, both empty excluding their prisoners corpses. _This place is strangely deserted, and I don't like it. . . _

So we stepped into Cell 9, which was immediately different than all of its counterparts. Instead of a small, poorly kept room, we entered a large room with a cage covering the view into the actual cell. All the lights were off, except one, revealing a light switch, coincidentally enough, and a pot of flowers with two lilies in it. To our right, there was a staircase. I inhaled deeply and prepared for the worst, not willing to say what I had already realized had happened.

We stepped down the two flights of stairs, with Fink's voice coming over the PA for the first time in a while. "DeWitt, you're a lion," he shouted, still trying to appeal to Booker as if he thought it would work. "But you can't blame me for looking after my own interests, can you? Now, I know Fitzroy's come calling, but I think you'll find her business with her has come to an end." He laughed coarsely. "Lions walk with lions, DeWitt! Not hyenas! And I'm the other lion here," he said, before his voice shut off.

We continued down the dimly lit stairs, passing by bloodstains which were ominously fresh. The dark premonition in the pit of my gut continued growing and growing until it could grow no more and I'd fully realized what happened. We arrived in the actual cell part of the holding room rather soon, and Booker walked over to the light switch. He punched it, and that's when I saw what I knew was down here since we walked in.

Chen Lin, completely maimed, disfigured, and lacerated, sitting with blue, purple, and red flesh, right in front of me. If he was recognizable as a man before, he certainly wasn't now; I don't even know if it was safe to qualify him as humane anymore. Elizabeth gasped and turned away, the large puddle of blood and the disfigured corpse too much for her. "He's . . . He's dead," she said, her voice breathy.

Booker turned the body around in the rotating chair and grimaced, probably regretting getting six inches or so away from the beaten, lacerated mess that used to be Chen Lin. He cursed. "Now we need to find someone else to get us those guns," he said.

"Guess so," continued Lucy.

"No!" interjected Elizabeth.

"Dead is dead," said Booker. "Ain't nothin' we can do about that."

"Yes," said a disembodied voice across the room. "Dead is dead."

I turned towards the source of the voice and pointed my gun at it, now identifying it as a man with slightly reddish hair, dressed in a casual, green suit. The woman next to him had the same color hair, a similar uniform, though her pants were replaced by a brown skirt. The gentleman was holding up a coin and staring at one side of it, while the woman stared at the other. I shook my gun, making it entirely clear that it was pointed at them. "What are you two doing here?" I asked, trying to sound intimidating, though sarcasm was always a better weapon for me.

"I see . . . heads," said the woman, completely ignoring my comment.

"And I, see tails," said her accomplice.

"And that means?" asked Lucy, still innocent enough to believe anyone in this city would cooperate with us.

"It's all a matter of perspective," replied the woman, cryptically answering her question.

"What do you see here, from this angle?" asked the man.

"Dead," called the woman. "And that angle?"

"Alive," said the man.

Elizabeth whispered, "Oh my God. . . Chen Lin, they mean Chen Lin!" She started to open up a fraction of a tear, revealing to us another place, yet the same as this one. It was the same room, the same structure, though there was a marginal difference in this one. . .

"They body's gone," I said, stating the obvious.

"It was never there," said the man.

"So another Columbia," said Lucy.

"A different one," said Elizabeth, as if clarifying this statement. As if it could be clarified, that is.

"It's the same coin," said the man.

"But from a different perspective," said his friend. _I need to come up with witty names for these two. _

"Just as heads is the opposite of tails,"

"dead is the opposite of alive." _Finishing each other's sentences. Do they rehearse? _

"We need to go to this other Columbia," said Elizabeth. "But . . . how?"

"It's a little like riding a bicycle," said the red haired man. "One never really forgets."

"One just needs the courage to hop on," replied the woman. "Oh, and before I forget, it appears the seeds are growing quite nicely." Her attention was directed to the flower pot in the back of the room, with the lilies growing out of it.

The man next to her smiled. "Indeed." Then, the lights above them started to flicker, before temporarily shutting off. By the time they came back on, the pair was gone.

"Well that certainly made _sense,__" _I said, making sure to emphasize the sarcasm.

"I got everything but the part about the seeds. Did they plant them or something?" asked Booker.

I shrugged. "Dunno'. But I guess we're off into this new Columbia, yes?"

Elizabeth nodded. "But once we're in, I can't guarantee we'll ever get back here again. Are you sure you're ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," I said. "Now go on. Open it up."

She began her usual tear-opening maneuver. I wasn't sure how to describe it and was less sure how it worked, but it did, so I didn't question it.

The air around us began to shift was we got sucked deeper and deeper into the tear. I felt light-headed almost immediately, and lost quite a bit of my balance, stumbling about slightly. My eyes lost the ability to focus, and the images around us became grey and grainy, as if we were viewing our world through a kinetescope. I felt like every bit of my body was begging to go back to the place it belonged, but that wouldn't happen. You know that feeling when you see a stain on an otherwise perfect sheet, and your eyes beg you to get rid of the stain? Well I guess that's how this world felt about me right now; I was the obnoxious stain that didn't belong there.

". . . Did anyone else just get that feeling?" I asked, looking at the rest of the group.

Lucy raised her hand. "I-I did," she said, her voice wavering slightly.

The room was filled to the brim with confiscated materials from the Vox. Weaponry, mainly, along with a few posters. That's what this town ran on, anyways; Propaganda, be it advertising a revolution or demanding worship as a Founder. All the same stuff, just a different perspective. _Heh, perspective jokes. Bad timing. _

"So what's the plan?" I asked, picking up one or two of the weapons and observing their condition. _Huh. _

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Can't we just get all of these weapons to Daisy and get our airship back? It'd still be the same thing, they're just not fresh."

I pulled the trigger on the guns in my hand, and heard absolutely nothing. Not a misfire, not out of ammo, just broken. "They're all broken, probably gonna' get melted down for scraps anyways. Can't give these to her."

Booker sighed. "So we're still on our way to find Chen Lin?" he asked.

"Guess so," said Lucy.

We started up the stairs, but there was one thing I noticed that I hadn't noticed before; there was a constant sound echoing throughout the cell. A chorus of voices all screaming about the same thing.

"Well," I said, as we arrived on the next floor. "This just got interesting."

The Vox locked up behind the barricades stared at us before they started to scream and pull on the bars, begging to be let out. Maybe they wanted to mob us, maybe they wanted to give us hugs and tell us how nice we looked today. The former was much more likely. Fortunately, they were all behind bars. "I don't think it's just weapons that were confiscated," said Lucy.

Elizabeth nodded. "People were, too."

"But none of that is our concern," said Booker. "We've got an airship to catch. Let's go find Chen Lin."


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21: The Favor

Booker's Perspective.

Cell number 9 was infinitely different this time around. The bars where the walls had once been held massive mobs of criminals, all screaming furiously about being trapped. They pulled simultaneously on the bars, and I was almost shocked that they couldn't make them budge. "This world really is different," I muttered, preparing my shotgun.

"It really is," continued Lucy. "But Chen Lin is alive here."

"I don't imagine you can just change something like that and have everything else just remain the same," I muttered, opening the door out of Cell 9.

The halls were different as well. The cells were occupied by people as well as bodies, all moaning and begging to escape. I contemplated helping them, but all the cells were locked, and we didn't really have time. I peeked inside Cell 6 just to be sure, and Slate was still there, in the same state as last time. _Guess that didn't change. _

Then we entered the room with the projector, which was on and rolling before we stepped inside. "Fitzroy!" he shouted. Chen Lin looked just as beaten and bruised as before. "Tell us what you know about Daisy Fi-"

"Cut him loose," called his friends.

"What?" called the first interrogator.

"Cut him loose, we got orders from above."

"What the hell?" Why?"

"Ain't you heard? The chink's wife got friends in high places, and they don't cater to this," he called. "Now cut him loose. We're just gonna' take his tools, that oughta' keep him clean."

The tape cut off after that. "Well," I said, "that's new."

"Missus Lin had friends in high places? Didn't seem like it last time," said Will.

"Maybe that's what changed," said Elizabeth. "That could be why he's still alive."

I shrugged. "One way to find out."

In the next room, we saw two rather familiar faces; Fran and her suitor, the latter on the floor and the former standing in a dazed position. They both had blood all over their faces, and they seemed to be . . . vibrating. _Am I drunk? _"Anyone else see that?"

Everyone nodded unanimously, before we started to listen to the strings of nonsense they were saying. "Two of me . . . which one do I hate? Which one of me do I hate!?" shouted the man on the left. "Am I dead?"

"Oh my God. . ." said Elizabeth. "They remember what we did to them. They remember being dead." She shivered, and I can't say with honesty that I wasn't a little shocked as well. I'd hate for it to happen to me, at the least.

We ascended the stairs and entered the makeup room, leaving those two down to enjoy themselves in their state of mental deficiency. Nothing had changed in here, and it was then that I finally started to register how odd this building was. Some things were exactly as we left them, and some things changed to an incredible degree. This was really, really weird. I nonchalantly stepped outside, expecting everyone to be dead like I'd left them.

No one was dead like I left them. The room was entirely filled with Founders. A spotlight crackled onto us on the stage. "What is going on here, Sansmark?" called Fink. "As my current - and I put all my emphasis on current - head of security, I assume you'd like to learn how these people got passed all your men, and what they were doing in my basement!" He turned off the PA, and all eyes turned towards us.

And then, so did their guns.

I pulled a ball of magma out of thin air and hurled it at the ground on one side of the stage, hoping that anyone who came up would meet a fire-filled demise. I took up position on the other side of the stairs, loading lead slugs into anyone who approached. I could tell who this Sansmark person was; he was rather well adorned compared to the rest of the Founders. His uniform had medals and other embellishments that made it rather clear that he was in charge. He took a position at the back of the room and started firing at us with a volley gun.

Will shoved Sally back in his pocket and started to take out the people further back in the room, while I handled anyone who decided to rush us. The magma trap on the other side had worked so far; no one was stupid enough to step into it, so most of them had just been funneled into the range of my shotgun and wiped out immediately afterwards. It was just as efficient as last time, though this time there weren't any giant robots.

Sansmark had had enough of us and jumped from his perch, barely avoiding a bullet from Will. He started to run towards us, firing the volley gun randomly. He ran up onto the stage, and . . . straight into the Devil's Kiss, coating himself in bright orange liquid. It burned his flesh and he screamed in agony, until his corpse was just ashes on the ground. The firefight was finished, and the room looked just about as gory as before. In fact. . .

"Everyone, take a look around," I said, staring at the various bloodstains and scorch marks. "What do you notice about this room?"

Elizabeth placed both of her hands on her mouth. "I-It looks almost the same as how it looked last time. . . And Sansmark," she said. "He looked just like the man who was hanged on the sign the first time we came here."

Will groaned. "This multi-dimensional stuff makes my head hurt. Can we just get to Chen Lin?"

"I think we should," said Lucy. "I don't feel so good anyways. . . Could go for a quick rest. Let's just finish what we started."

We went to the far side of the theater, with more curiosity than anything else. The kinetescope was still there, as was the poster next to it. Elizabeth leaned forward and started to watch it, before raising one of her hands. "W-Wait. Will?" she said, her tone frightful.

"Yes?" he replied, a hand on his gun.

"Your work . . . It isn't yours anymore, in this dimension."

"Whose is it, then?" he asked.

"It says it belongs to . . . Samuel G. Goodsworth, not William R. Foreman, like the rest of them do." She stood up again and crossed her arms.

"So now the universe is stealing my work. Great," he said, a hand on the back of his head. "Let's just get a move on, this whole thing is obnoxious."

We ascended the stairs at the back of the amphitheater and made our way into the main entrance, all rather scared by what had just happened in front of us. Everything was the same. Except, in the main entrance, someone in a ratty thief's uniform knelt behind some cover, waiting for people to come inside. He looked at us, and sighed happily. "Hey! Just the man I need to see," he shouted, before standing up. It was the man from the docks the other day. "I could use that favor right about now."

_I guess that didn't change in this world. _"Yeah? And what is it?"

"Uhm, excuse me," said Elizabeth. "You two know each other?"

"We met at the docks while the two of you were playing stowaway," I said, directed at her and Will. "He helped me out a bit, and now it's my time to return the favor."

"Indeed it is!" He dusted his hands. "Now, I seem to have gotten into a bit of a jam. I was lootin' through this clock shop up front, and it would appear that I've attracted the attention of Fink security. It'd be a great favor if you lot would deal with them for me, wouldn't it?"

I shrugged. "We were goin' that way, anyways, so I'll take you up on the offer."

"Good! They're right outside, probably preparing to bust in here. They're not very happy with me. I'll meet you all outside after we're done, okay? Okay!" he said, before cowering behind cover again.

I sighed. "Come on, everyone, we've got business to take care of. Just kill the lot of them." We stepped outside, into the bright light of day, and I shaded my eyes with my hand for a moment or so. After they'd fully adjusted, I saw the entire police force we'd killed earlier that day mustered outside, all with weapons at the ready. A fireman stood at the back, probably their supervising officer, and then they noticed us.

"Hey! They must be friends of that thief!" they automatically assumed, before shooting at us. I dived behind one of the columns that made up the fence and stood up, gritting my teeth. _You know, if I wasn't a friend of that thief, I could be dead by now. So. Good job. _I leaned out from cover and started firing at them with my carbine. They were all relatively massed together, save the Fireman and a few of the officers that ran outside the fence to wait for us behind the barricade. _This group, all this close together, should be a piece of cake. _I hurled a fireball into the group, and considering how close together they were, it did remarkable damage; most everyone was singed, burnt, or dead in that time. I jumped out from behind cover and fired at whatever stragglers were leftover, killing effectively ten or eleven people in the time it took most people to kill a few.

"Nice job, Booker," called Will from behind me, "But we're not done yet. Still a few people 'round this corner, and we can't go the other way to get to the gun shop." He pointed at the place where the Fireman was preparing himself and his troops. He did something I hadn't seen any other firemen do before; he set up the little traps I had grown so fond of using, all around his perimeter. That left his suit a little dimmer, with less salts, I presume, but he was still flaming and ready to go. So we couldn't charge him without burning to death, that was for sure.

"Will, I'm trustin' that fancy rifle work of yours to handle most of these guys." He grabbed the aforementioned weapon off his back and smirked.

"My pleasure." He climbed on top of the column he'd been using for cover and knelt down, his eye glued to the scope. I heard him whispering to himself before he pulled the trigger, and one of the men collapsed dead. He continued shooting into the crowd, and I did a head count; four men remaining, alongside the Fireman. Wait, make that three - another one just collapsed with a hole in the side of their head.

Will started focusing on the Fireman now, leaving the actual Founders to me. They ran through the traps, completely unscathed, as most allies could do, and fired at me. The shield reflected most of their bullets, but then I felt it shatter briefly, a feeling I'd never experienced before. A bullet flew into my leg, and I fell backwards, cursing under my breath. I held my shotgun in one hand and fired at them, causing them to drop dead in the pull of the trigger two or three times. I tried to regain my footing, but couldn't quite do it; this damn shield was no good. I'd need to complain to that lady who gave it to me the next time I saw her, which would probably be pretty soon, considering how often she pops up.

I stared at the corner, waiting for someone to come around it, but no one did. I still heard the whir of the fireman's suit and Will's rifle, so I knew the fighting hadn't completely ceased yet. I guess no one was focused on me anymore.

Oh, scratch that. The fireman just turned the corner. His suit was riddled with bullet holes and blood was pouring out of all of them. This was around the time that he set himself to self destruct and charged at us. I hoped that wasn't what he was doing right now. The distinct beeping in my ear said otherwise, though, as he ran towards me. I struggled to crawl away, but the pain in my leg was unbearable. I stared at my killer now, waiting for him to explode.

He didn't, though. A tendril of water flew into him and slammed him against the wall of the tower, before an adjacent one grabbed him and pulled him into the air above Will. He jumped down from his position and stumbled to the floor, staring back up as the beast giant thing burst into fire and bright orange liquid, which proceeded to shower down above us. A bit of it fell on my now-regenerated shield, and I could feel it melting through. I flailed about and flung it off, watching it disintegrate on the ground next to me.

Elizabeth and Lucy ran towards me, kneeling by my side. "Get the bullets out," said Lucy, and Elizabeth nodded and obliged. Three shots on the same leg. . . I only noticed the one. Huh.

They proceeded to play nurse for a little while, before John walked out from his hiding spot. "Nice work," he said. "Sorry 'bout the gun wound, but let's be honest; you probably would've gotten it anyways." He saluted us before running off into the streets, without any form of compensation other than that rather poor compliment. "See you 'round!" was the last thing we heard before he ran around the corner.

Will sighed. "I don't like that guy. How you feelin'?" he asked, staring down at me. It felt weird to be stuck on the ground like this. He extended a hand and helped me up.

"I'm fine," I said, putting weight on my injured foot. It wasn't as bad as I initially thought it would be. I'd live. "We've got to get to the gun shop and talk to Chen Lin. C'mon."

The streets were desolate, as they'd been before, but various things had changed; the paint on the side of the clock tower was red instead of beige, the record store was now a clothing store, all sorts of minute things that were probably influenced by the dimensional shift. _What have I gotten myself into? _The inside of Chen Lin's reception office was very much the same, except it wasn't looted or ruined, because the police had never needed to loot or ruin it. It was all fine. The door was shut, leaving us in eerie silence. "Well, in we go," I muttered, before flinging the door open.

The inside was much like it had been before; completely silent, the furnace was on, all the coal was left in exactly the same place as it had been. The stairs hadn't shifted position, as I'd honestly been expecting, and it still created that obnoxious clanking noise as we walked up them. "It's so quiet. . ." I heard Elizabeth whisper. "No machines, no tools."

"He's probably upstairs," I said, doubting what I said before it even came out. "Let's go find him."

At the top of the staircase, where the shrine had once been, there was a statue. Much like the statue before; stone, carved, but this time, it was of Comstock. Comstock, with his obnoxious beard waving in the wind and his hands rested in some kind of podium. All around him, there were American flags and other patriotic symbols, as well as offerings stacked on the floor. "The shrine is a figure of . . . Comstock now. . ." said Elizabeth again, feeling the need to point out the obvious. _I guess she is the inter-dimensional travel expert in the group. _

I sighed. "Yeah, it is. Now let's go find Chen Lin."

We rounded the last corner, on the top floor, to see Chen Lin, standing in the middle of a vacant room, waving his hand through the air. "Hey," shouted Will, waving at him. "Hey!" He waved his hand in front of his face. Chen Lin certainly wasn't dead, but there was something distinct about his facial features. That would be the fact that his nose was bleeding furiously, and he was shaking in and out of reality. He shifted positions in the room several times; not by moving, but by disappearing in one spot and appearing in the other.

"Mr. Lin? Chen Lin?" I asked, trying to speak above the strange sounds echoing throughout the room.

"Who are you? Speak up! Can't hear you over all these machines!" He said, his accent thick. "Machines too loud!" His figure completely flickered into a mess of static before returning to its original position.

"I'm Booker DeWitt."

"Stand back! These machines, very dangerous. Wait downstairs with Missus Lin," he said, before walking through the nothingness. He looked incredibly out of place.

"Look, Daisy Fitzroy sent us. We need to talk to you about getting some weapons. . ." This was growing odder and odder by the second. My companions merely stood behind me, staring at Chen Lin, Will, with a look of intrigue, Elizabeth, with a look of horror, and Lucy, with a look of confusion.

"These machines, very dangerous! No place for stupid people!" His voice shifted in tone for a moment, almost as if another person began talking. "Want to lose pretty head? Just go downstairs!" He said, before turning around and cutting off all communication with us.

"This is obnoxious. . . What's wrong with him?" I asked, turning to Elizabeth.

"He was dead. . . Maybe he remembers that. Just like the guards in the cell," she said, horrified.

Lucy shrugged. "I don't know how I'd deal with being dead. I can't say I blame him."

"Either way, we need to get our weapons _somehow," _said Will. "And if this trip to another dimension was a waste of my time, I'm going to sue that guy who's been claiming my work. Might as well get some money off of it. I've got all the patents down below."

We started to descend the staircase once more, looking for something, when we noticed a figure kneeling in front of the Comstock statue. At first I thought it was May Lin, but then I heard her speaking. "Heal my husband. . . Bring my Chen Lin back to me," she said, tears in her eyes. Her English was perfect.

"Excuse me, miss," I said, interrupting her prayer. "I'm looking for Missus Lin?"

"I'm Missus Lin, she said, a look of desperation on her face. She was a white woman, her hair tied back in a bun. She wore a fancy dress and wore jewelry, unlike any Chinese lady I'd ever seen in Columbia.

"No, she's a little Chinese lady," I began.

"No," said Elizabeth. "This _is _Missus Lin." She glared at me with a haunting expression, trying to warn me of my mistake.

"They stole my husband's tools. What could my husband do without his tools?" she said, before crying again. Lucy and Will stood back. They'd been acting rather odd since we entered this new universe, come to think of it. . .

"He's just a bit out of sorts, ma'am," said Will. "I'm sure he'll be fine eventually."

"If he could work again. . . Maybe, his work would ease his thoughts." She sighed again, tears coming with it.

"Missus Lin, do you know where they took your husband's tools?" said Lucy. "We'd be glad to get them back for you."

A red warning light went off in my head. _This is bad, we're getting into more trouble than we need to be. . . _"Goddamn police took them," said Missus Lin. "Went and locked them up over in Shanty-Town." She broke away from Elizabeth's grasp and started to pray to Comstock again, for whatever reason. _Idol worship of any kind frightens me. _

She ignored us as we walked downstairs, talking among ourselves. "Was she right?" asked Elizabeth. "Would tools fix his mind?"

I shrugged. "It's worth a shot, since we already volunteered for it," I said, carrying the message towards Lucy. "We aren't getting any guns if he doesn't have tools, anyways. So I guess it's off to Shanty-Town."

"Wait," called Will. "I have a quick question."

We all turned around to face him. "Yeah?" I asked.

"Has anyone else been feeling really odd here? I feel my stomach turning about, and it feels like the world doesn't want me here. Like I'm not supposed to be here. Is that how you all feel with the dimensional warp thing? I feel like my mind is trying to recall something, but it can't remember. But it has to; it just won't give up."

I didn't feel anything like that. "No. . . No, I can't say I feel like that, Will."

"Me neither," said Elizabeth, "though I am more used to this than the rest of you."

Lucy raised her hand. "I feel exactly like that. My thoughts are all jumbled up, like something reached inside my head and put something there that wasn't supposed to be."

He sighed. "Guess it's just us, then." _That must be why they're acting so weird. _"But let's head on to Shanty Town anyways."

"Right. . ." said Elizabeth. "Just tell me if it gets too hard to bear. I'll see what I can do to fix it," she said, bowing her head to Will.

"Much obliged. Now let's get a move on."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22: The Underside

Lucy's Perspective.

"You know," I said, "I'm starting to regret this whole tear thing."

Will snickered. "You and me both," he said, maintaining his composure, unlike me. I was wobbling about and I was damn near vomiting every time I took more than a few steps. This whole multi-dimensional thing is ridiculous.

"I'm sorry," said Elizabeth. "I'm staring to think it was a bad idea, too, but there's not much we can do about it now. Just . . . try to bear with it, okay?"

"I'm sure you two'll adjust soon," said Booker, always the optimist. Sarcasm intended.

The streets of Fink's plaza were abandoned now that we'd ripped through them, in two dimensions. Nothing was quite different, but yet, everything was. I didn't even try to wrap my head around it; I just imagined they remodeled absolutely everything and that everyone had an identical twin. Except us, of course, unless we did. What if we did have another us, waiting in this universe, and when we found them, something terrible happened? Who knows.

It was a painful experience, though. This universe _really _didn't like me, or Will, for whatever reason.

We walked through Fink's tower, in the shadow of the giant clock tower. It was currently on "SLEEP", in the middle of the afternoon, so that's nice. Everything, as usual, was silent.

That is, until the doors to our right which we'd came through an hour or so before, descending in the service elevator, popped open and out poured Founders with guns blazing. I dived to the right and took a position behind some cover, listening to the gunshots all around me. As usual, gunshots. I was getting less and less used to the whole "I'm travelling with two trained killers and a science-experiment-sort-of-daughter-of-the-guy-who -wants-us-dead" thing. I tried not to think of Elizabeth as a science experiment, but in reality, that's kind of what she is. Still, it had seemed normal for a while after it happened, but now it just feels like I'm out of place. Then again, in this universe, I kind of _am _out of place.

Will might be nauseous and light-headed, but his aim certainly wasn't hindered; as usual, he and Sally were a team bringing about ultimate demise everywhere they stepped. You think people would eventually learn that we're not going to die any time soon and they should stop sending every asset they have after us, but hey, if they all die, that's less for me to have to deal with. That's another thing I wasn't so fond of; my nonchalance towards killing people. It's become so standard that ignoring it just became simple. I pretended I was acting, and that it was a stage.

The chaos around the battlefield was just like ambient noise now. No one really needed me for much when actual battles were going on, unless I needed to do technological maintenance, so for the most part, I sat and watched. Booker charged in with the shotgun and relied on the shield to deflect whatever bullets found him, while Will was the Yin to his Yang, approaching every situation with care and precision. Booker was the drunken brute, Will was the graceful fighter. It was a nice pair to have; they could handle just about any situation, and having Elizabeth along didn't hurt.

Speaking of Elizabeth, what was she up to? Well, she was hidden in a similar spot as I, scrounging about for ammunition and occasionally stealing weapons off of corpses if they were close enough. She really was efficient, tossing rolls of ammo and salts towards the boys when they needed the help, and that was pretty often. On the off chance that one of them got shot, I knew perfectly well that she was practically a doctor and could heal just about anything that wasn't entirely fatal. Our team really was effective, now that no one on it hated anyone else.

People kept running out the doors towards us, their weapons raised, seemingly contented with the fact that none of them were likely to live to tell the tale of their heroism. Will fired Sally until she needed to be loaded, leaving four men dead; it could've been six, but he wasn't a _perfect _shot every single time. When Will crouched below his crate, Booker stood up from behind his and started to fire into the crowd with his shotgun. They were like clockwork, one eliminating people who required precision and power, while the other handled the mass that was generally easy to handle. It was amazing to watch.

The fight was over some time after I finished analyzing the situation, and I got pulled back into reality, much to my dismay. Will and Booker ran towards us, both panting furiously. Booker had an injury and Will was constantly having his head ripped apart, put back together, and then ripped apart again. I kind of felt bad for forcing them to do things for us.

"So," said Will, pausing to take a few breaths. "Shantytown. Where's that?"

Booker breathed heavily as well, staring down at his leg, which was currently wrapped in gauze. "I dunno'. . ."

Elizabeth pointed directly in front of us. "Something tells me it's right around there," she said, her finger leading us towards a giant sign. Much like all the other ones we'd seen, it listed what the door underneath it led to. This one said "Shantytown" in large, fancy font.

"Oh, right, probably," muttered Will, barely regaining his breath. "You'll have to excuse me, my eyesight's still adjusting to not wanting to exist, is all. . ." He tried to laugh, but failed.

Elizabeth frowned at him, realizing he was worsening by the minute. "Hey. . ." she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?. . . I can get you some help, if you need it. Medical kits, food, drink, anything you need."

Booker waved his hand, finally having caught his breath. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

"You're sure, but I'm not," muttered Will, before sighing. "It'll be fine, I'm . . . Yeah. It'll be fine."

Elizabeth crossed her arms, with a cross expression. "Fine, if you say so, but don't hesitate to ask for help. You too, Lucy, you two need it more than us."

"What do you think our problem roots from?" I asked. "Is it because of something that happened before we met?"

"I ain't got no idea. Other than the fact that Elizabeth can open the thing, only thing I can think of is I went to Monument Island and you didn't."

I sighed again. "Oh well," I said.

We entered the giant door that led to Shantytown, and wound up in a crate transport room. There were skylines on either side of the room, the one on the far side of the room covered with crates, blocking off the other door. In the middle of the room, there were two vending machines and a lever, which I assumed controlled the crates. Booker approached it and pulled on it, while Will slammed his elbow into one of the vending machines, seeing if anyone got knocked loose. Nothing did, save a few coins, but I suppose it was worth a shot. The crates on the far side of the room started to shift, incredibly slowly. "Ah, come on," muttered Booker, punching the device. That was to no avail.

Elizabeth clasped her hands together, before muttering, "You know, if you want to ask me, you can." Her comment was directed at all of us, but mostly towards Will.

"What about?" he replied, nonchalantly rolling his shoulders.

"My finger," she said, as if it was obvious. She raised her right hand and flexed it, displaying the thimble that covered her missing phalanx we'd all grown familiar with. to be honest, I'd never even questioned why it was there; I just figured it was part of the Lamb of Columbia thing. She scratched it with her other hand.

"I didn't intend to," he said, shrugging. "But, to humor you, what's it for?"

She scratched it again, obviously unnerved by the subject. "I don't know. It's as much a mystery to me as it is to everyone else, I think. I'd ask Songbird, but. . . You know."

Will smirked. "So what was the point of bringing it up if you didn't know, even more so if you didn't want to discuss it?" She smiled in return, rather shyly. _So innocent. It's almost sweet that she tries to hide it._

"It's just . . . I felt like you'd all been interested. And. . ."

Will put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said, plain and flat.

"Oh, it's fine. I hear finger thimbles are the latest fashion craze in France," she said, giggling slightly.

The crates on the far side of the room were all finished moving now, and the side behind us was blocked off again. I guess it's a giant oval? Or maybe it's assembled like that to keep certain people out at certain times. Finkton sure was strange.

I wasn't sure what I'd call the place after we opened the door. It looked like some kind of hallway that was open to the world, so ships could drop off things and whatnot for people to carry around, but I wasn't sure if it was that or just some method of transportation. So we'll call it a street. The street was occupied by the military, currently, meaning we had more people to shoot. Oh boy. _Do we ever get a break? _I wished I could just go back to the boardwalk and spend this entire time in Soldier's Field with Elizabeth, teaching her more about having fun. This wasn't exactly the best experience to have to introduce you to the world.

Will raised Sally and blasted off the nearest soldier's heads. I noticed that these weren't the standard Founders with clubs and thin uniforms we'd fought up until now; most of them wore thick clothing and had packs on, as if they were required to fight anywhere at any time. I can't imagine what they'd need camping material for, but that's certainly what it looked like. Then again, Booker'd probably know better than me; he had military experience. Speaking of Booker, he charged forwards as usual. The middle of the street was completely vacant of cover, but I could fix that.

"Elizabeth! Tear!" I shouted, pointing to the middle of the road. The grainy grey crate I could faintly see burst into existence in front of Booker, and he crouched behind it, using it for cover. Will, on the other hand, jumped onto one of the skylines and took to the railing that held the street up and was used for the presumed unloading of cargo and started dancing around like an assassin, loading bullets into heads at closer range than Booker usually did, and he was using a pistol. Watching him was like observing visible art. Booker was amazing as well, though, and had an equally large fatality rate, but something about the way Will did it made it look much more . . . professional, so to speak.

Will started to round a corner, but stepped backwards, barely avoiding a knife to the face as a soldier with a Volley Gun over his shoulder popped out. Will grabbed his own weapon and held it in the hand opposite of the one holding Sally, and began to dance around, dueling him with both knife and gun. Booker still stood below, stopping advances towards us. He jumped back and observed the situation with Will, who'd just received the butt of a gun to his face. He spat out some blood and jumped at the man with a knife, wrestling him into a stalemate. "Elizabeth!" said Booker, turning to face her.

"What?" she called, from behind our hiding spot.

"Will could use some help, call in that gun automation over there!" He directed her towards it, but crouched down once again after bullets started flying over his head.

"That'll just leave you vulnerable!"

"One problem at a time," he called, before standing up and loading rounds into the men in front of him. Elizabeth obliged his request and called in the gun on the far side of the room, and I watched with glee as it started to fire at the men behind cover on the other side of the bridge. _Excellent, _I thought to myself. _That problem should solve itself. _The machine took notice of Will and the volley-boy, the former of which dived off the bridge just in time to avoid a chest full of led. The slugs slammed into the man's chest and he collapsed, now a bloody mess. I always got this warm and fuzzy feeling when a firefight started going our way. That is, until I remembered it was a firefight.

Booker brought down the last person foolish enough to resist and the area went silent, much like it usually did after a gunfight was finished. He sighed, panting again. "Damn, that's tough on the leg."

Will scratched his chin, with a similar expression. "It's tough on the everything," he said. "I swear, something about this universe just doesn't sit right with me."

We continued walking down the street, and golden pipes started to sprout out of it, probably transferring water or something similar down to Shantytown. If it was anything like the name suggested, I can imagine they'd need lots of it. . .

There was a ticket booth, because apparently you needed to pay to enter Shantytown, but fortunately, being notorious criminals tends to make everyone run off screaming. Will and Booker went inside, searching for loot, and Will pumped his fist victoriously. "New vigor!" he shouted, before pointing at the bottle. It was emerald green and the handles appeared to be ram horns, matching the ram head that made up the lid.

"Who says you get it?" said Booker, before taking an offensive stance against Will.

"What if I want it?" replied Will, cracking his knuckles.

"Only one way to settle this. . ." Booker pulled out a coin and tossed it towards Will. "We flip it."

Will smiled. "Alright. Heads, I win. Tails . . . you lose. Got it?"

"I'm not stupid, Will."

Elizabeth and I stared at the scene in both horror and intrigue. "When did they get so childish?" I asked.

"I . . . have no idea."

Will flipped the coin, and caught it in his hand. He put it between his arm and his hand, and when he pulled his hand back . . .

"Heads. I win," he said, grinning mischievously. He turned to open the bottle and down the contents, before noticing the giant fence in his way. He took a double take for a moment, before trying to pry it open. It didn't budge for a second. "Booker, help me out with this," he muttered, before they both pulled on it simultaneously. It still didn't budge.

"That was quite a waste of time, boys, but don't you think we have business to attend to?" called Elizabeth, laughing into her hand. _I guess those two really are friends. _

Beyond the ticket booth, there was the elevator that led down into Shantytown. We all stepped inside, and Booker punched the button, as he usually did. We started to drift down into Shantytown, and the wall in front of us peeled back to display a curtain of smoke that hung over the town. Another one of the giant clock towers stood in front of it, one of the only buildings that penetrated the thick layer.

Elizabeth stood against the glass with her hands pressed against it. "You all. . . What do you think of me?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" I replied, tilting my head slightly.

"You all must think of me as some kind of freak," she said, pressing her hands against the glass harder. "I can bring dead men and women back to life. I can pull things in from other universes, and my only friend is a . . . a giant bird creature. Isn't that ridiculous?"

"You just didn't wind up with the best cards in the deck," replied Booker. _Did he really just tie gambling into that? He just tied gambling into that. _

"I won't go back," she muttered, before turning towards us for the first time. "I will not go back to that tower, no matter what they do to me."

"They're not going to give up that easily," replied Booker, in a soft and soothing voice.

"Why?" she replied, throwing her hands up angrily. "What did I do to them?" _It's amazing how quickly a mood can shift like that. _

"They're afraid," replied Booker. "You frighten them."

She turned around and faced the now-visible streets. "I just want to get off this city. I want to live a normal life, and have real friends, and interact with real people."

"Hey," called Will, from the back of the elevator. "I thought we had this discussion." He walked towards her and put a hand on her shoulder, as he was so fond of doing. "I'm your friend. And I'm always gonna' be. Now do me a favor and calm down. Being angry isn't gonna' fix anything, so just calm down."

She stared at him with a soft expression. "R-Right. . ." she muttered, turning away from him with her head down. "I guess I'm ju- Oh my God. . ." She didn't finish her sentence before she noticed the condition of Shantytown.

The condition was miserable, I could tell; and I wasn't even out of the elevator yet. The streets were damp and muddy, there was trash all over them, and in front of us, there stood a small crowd of people; four or five, listening to a man standing on top of some trashed boxes. He pointed at the air and shouted some messages, but the children in front of him weren't morally influenced at all. They sat there, staring at their hands, silently begging God for anything he could give them. Or that's how I interpreted it. These kids were obviously starving; they looked like twigs, quite literally. I don't know how to describe the scene, other than saying it was absolutely horrible.

The elevator door opened in front of us, with a ding, and people immediately started staring, excluding the preacher and his crowd. "This is what they want, brothers," he called. "To keep you so hungry, that you can't speak but to beg for food. To keep you so ignorant, and foolish, that you can't come up with solutions to your own problems." Next to him stood a sign, with "WHY HAST THOU FORSAKEN US?" written on it, in a menacing font. "They want you to chase that almighty silver eagle, so they can force you to buy what they're sellin', brothers!" The way he shouted was ironically similar to the way I'd heard preachers speak before. It was much like the religious fanatics up above, though these folk were preaching about a completely different message.

"The underside of Finkton," I muttered, "must be something awful." I stumbled forwards, dizzier than before. In an instant, I felt a splitting headache and grabbed my head, the pain terribly intense. It was like someone just shot me in the skull, but my brain didn't feel like giving out yet. I didn't feel any blood, though. I vaguely heard Booker asking if I was alright, but I didn't reply.

Will was effected by something, too, and grabbed the side of his head. "Just give me a minute to sit down. . ." He muttered, before finding a wall to sit against and sliding down it. I did something similar, though I wasn't sure if it was as slow or graceful. Elizabeth knelt in front of us.

"Booker, they look pale. This whole dimension thing must finally be catching up to them," she said, her tone desperate. "We need to find them some help." She took Will's hand and told him that everything was going to be alright. I would've smiled if I didn't feel like my head was exploding.

Booker ran off down the streets, calling for help, before Elizabeth followed after him, leaving me and Will sitting their, our heads in our hands, feeling miserable. _This is one fun vacation. _


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23: The People

Elizabeth's Perspective.

Well . . . That was certainly interesting. Will and Lucy collapsing simultaneously before we even took more than a few steps into Shantytown, that is. Booker and I were whisking through the streets, asking people for medicine or expertise or anything, all finding none. Most people we asked for help asked us for money before we even finished our sentence, which I kind of expected. I don't see why were were even looking for help down here, but I couldn't just let him sit there. . .

Let them sit there, that is.

"Elizabeth," called Booker, while rifling through some doors. "Found anything?"

"Not anything useful. . . Rotten oranges and bananas, but nothing that could help us significantly. . ." I sighed and crossed my arms. "What do you think is wrong with them?"

"Maybe a pressure change thing, or something to do with their problem with the Tear thing. Who knows," he muttered. "Will should be able to handle it, but I'm concerned about Lucy."

I shrugged. "I'm sure they'll be fine," I said, trying to convince myself, "but we need them up and about as soon as possible. We don't have time to wait around. . ." I took a seat on one of the broken stools and sighed, letting myself deflate. "What do you suggest we do?"

He shrugged. "Guess we just look around Shantytown, see if we can't find anything that might help. I don't know if anyone can fix universe-problems, though. At the very least, we can find a way to ease their pain." He rolled his shoulders and held his gun at the ready, as if always expecting someone to jump out from behind a corner and try and put a bullet in his head. Though, it wasn't a poorly founded fear; we definitely were targets as of late, and I'd rather have him overly paranoid than too carefree.

Shantytown was one of the most miserable experiences I'd had in my life, and that included my lifetime of imprisonment inside that tower. The people on the streets looked weary and thin, as if they hadn't eaten in their entire lives. Almost all of them begged us for food, and the ones who didn't were collapsed on the streets, with signs next to them demanding what they wanted. I ran towards people with food and money I had scavenged for, but it didn't seem to accomplish much, even if it was some emotional relief for me. A small child ran towards me and bowed his head. "E-Excuse me, miss," he said, staring into my eyes. "My sister's sick, and I need some medicine for her. . ." I ruffled his hair and smiled at him.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," I said, convincing myself more than him. He ran off, looking slightly more convinced, and I looked to Booker, who was as stone-faced as ever. He didn't seem nearly as horrified as I probably did, and I wondered how he remained so un-phased in every circumstance. I wished I could do that; even if it was a little insensitive, it would probably make things like that easier.

"Hands up!" I heard a man shouting at us, as he jumped out from behind a corner. He had a gun raised and pointed it at Booker, who held a similar stance, though with much more confidence. The man robbing us was dressed in rags, wore a ruined top hat, and was missing several teeth. He grinned deliriously, as if this was a good idea. "Some well-to-do types, hmm. . ." He smiled at us, and shook his gun. "Just drop us some coins, would ya'?. . . Not all of us are so well employed. . ." He smiled again.

Booker smirked slightly. "Look, I ain't lookin' for any trouble," he said, a smile on his face.

The man waved his gun at his corner, and out jumped two more men. "Get 'em, bo-" he began, before he dropped to the ground with a hole in his head. His cohorts stared at their dead ringleader, before glancing back at Booker. Booker smiled, and waved his gun, sending them both sprawling away.

"Alright," he muttered, staring at the building in front of us; "Frankie's Bar", according to the sign. "This here's some kind of bar. We should be able to go inside and ask for help," he said. "Go ahead and wait out of here if you'd like." He pushed open the doors to the bar with both hands and sauntered on in, looking all macho-like, like most men did when entering a new bar, from what I'd read. It would've been humorous if it wasn't for the need with which we entered.

I glanced towards the man behind the bar. He was definitely a round man, which was interesting, considering he lived in Shantytown, and had a beard that fell down to his chest. His hair, what was left of it, was poorly groomed, almost as badly as the beard, and his face was weary. Despite all that, though, he smiled a smile I'd never seen from anyone but Will; a carefree, yet incredibly caring, warm, radiant smile that sent warmth into you. He waved towards us, practically dancing. "Oh, come in, come in, take a seat! Not every day I get new customers," he said, laughing, "'specially not ones so pretty. And I ain't just talkin' 'bout the sir there!" He laughed again and started polishing the bar.

Booker paced towards it and took a seat on the stool in front of him, gesturing towards a bottle behind the man. It was dark in color and the barkeep laughed again. "You sure you want that one?" He grabbed the bottle and set it on the counter. "It's known to knock men on their rear first time they had it, and you don't quite look like a heavy-weight," he said, pulling the lid off.

Booker waved his hand at him. "I've handled stronger stuff than that. But before I get knocked on my ass, I got a question for you; I have a few friends down here who aren't doin' so well."

"Don't we all?" said the barkeep, pouring Booker's drink.

"Well, this is a different circumstance. They're ailed by . . . the pressure," he said, "being in an environment they're not used to. You think you got anything that might make them feel better? At least make their heads not hurt so much," he said, as the barkeep slid the drink towards him. He grabbed it and started to chug it down.

"'Fraid I don't know anything other than alcohol that can get a man feelin' better," he said, "but I wish them the best. Anything else I can do for you?" Booker shook his head, and the man extended his hand. "Name's Frankie, as you could probably tell by the sign outside. I'll be happy to help with anything you need. You plan on stickin' around? Columbia, that is; no one wants to stick around Shantytown 'nless they have to."

"Nah, we're skippin' town pretty soon." Booker shook his hand. "Name's Booker," he said, completely ignoring the fact that someone might recognize him as the False Shepard. "We just need 'em up on their feet pretty soon here to get us on out," he continued. "Thanks for the help anyways."

Frankie smiled, revealing rotting teeth. "Hey, it's what I'm here for. You need anything, just bring 'em by, I'll see if a little alcohol doesn't fix 'em straight up." Booker finished his glass and handed it to Frankie, who started polishing it and whistling a tune. Booker stood up and turned around. "Oh, and mister," called Frankie, "I owe you an Eagle if you ever stop back in here. You managed to get up and walk more than a few feet after that one," he said, with a grin. Booker waved his hand and chuckled.

"No problem," he said, before we left the bar. "Well, that was pleasant," he said, "but not particularly helpful."

I sighed. "I guess it's time we just go check on them. If worse comes to worst, we can just leave them here and get to the Impound by ourselves."

"Not likely," he said. "I can't take on an army by myself. Hell, I can hardly do it with Will, half the time," he continued, while we weaved through the streets.

"Really?" I said, genuinely surprised. "You two make it look so easy though."

"Easy? It's _never _easy. It doesn't help that neither of us is exactly at maximal performance at the moment, him with his shoulder and his tear-sickness, and me with the whole leg thing."

"I didn't realize it was that hard on you two," I said.

"It's what we've got to do," he said, sighing lightly.

We arrived on the plaza where we'd left Will and Lucy. They were still there, though an added person was sitting next to them; the Preacher from before. He was yelling about how even the folk above were down on their luck, and just how much they really needed Daisy Fitzroy. "Even this here fella' who looks like someone who works up in Comstock house need Fitzroy's help! We all need it!" Will grabbed his hand and stopped him before he could say more.

"Could you shut the hell up?" he asked, squinting slightly. "You're giving me a headache. I'm not an example, dammit," he said, before lowering his head again. He and Lucy looked slightly better, not quite as pale, and neither one of them was collapsed anymore. They still didn't look like they were too fond of standing up though.

I ran towards Will's side and took his hand. "How are you feeling?" I asked, a concerned look on my face.

He laughed slightly. "What, it matters? It's my job to do what's needed, in sickness and in health," he said, pushing my arm aside. He took a few steps forward and shook his head. He grimaced slightly and raised a hand towards it once more. I stepped towards him once more and grabbed his shoulders.

"Hey, you can sit down, you know," I said. He shrugged his shoulders once more, though.

"Nah, I need to get used to it. It only gets easier."

Lucy stepped in front of us as well, smiling faintly. "We're fine, don't slow down because of us. We don't need any help."

Booker gritted his teeth slightly. "Are you sure? We're open to varying the plans," he said.

Will shook his head slightly. "God, you think this'd be easier. We're fine," he said, "though I appreciate the concern." He gave me another one of those smiles that filled my outlook with warmth and gave me this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"O-Okay," I said, lowering my face. _Why am I blushing? _

"So. Police impound, huh? How close are we to that?" He asked, regaining his usual composure.

Booker shrugged. "I imagine we'll find it eventually," he said. "Shantytown's kind of a one-way street, from what I've seen. And I doubt we'll want to see anything else." He pointed down the cobblestone street in front of us. "Thataway," I suppose.

We continued down the streets and I saw several things we saw on the first trip down it, to Frankie's bar. People starving and whatnot; it was after we passed where we'd stopped last time that I started to see more and more horrifying things. I didn't want to look at Lucy; her expression was completely miserable. I would feel the same way if I'd lived up above and had no idea how the people down here were. Then again, I did, but I didn't exactly live in any sort of civilization. Will retained a similar expression to Booker's, though his was less cruel looking. I found myself staring at him for a little while before I could finally pull my eyes away.

We descended a staircase to see a crowd of people mobbed around a Dollar Bill vending machine, trying to rip coins, food, anything out of it by slamming on it with their fists. They danced around it and shouted at each other, sometimes coming to blows, trying to gather things like coins and grains that had popped out. I wasn't sure some of it was even edible. I grimaced and turned away, before noticing a tear. A tear . . . filled with foot. Fruits and other food articles stacked high in carts, standing there next to them. "Hey. . ." I said, pointing towards it. "A tear. Should I open it?"

Booker shrugged. "Don't see why not." I did as he said and everyone took notice of it almost immediately. Instead of questioning where it came from, they all ran towards it, though not quite like I'd expected. I'd expected - no, wanted - them all to be happy and joyful and take their own share of the food. But instead they just started fighting over the food, leaving the vending machine, their previous source of conflict, behind.

"That . . . didn't go well," I said, as I watched a woman wrestle a man for a bag of apples.

Will shrugged. "You did your best," he said.

We continued down the street and through a tunnel, which was absolutely filled with people. I guess it was a place that was frequented, where they could beg. Then I noticed the sacks and mattresses all around; people lived here, in all the grime, mud, and trash. _Disgusting. . . _I shivered visibly and looked from person to person as we walked. There were children who didn't even look to be four or five years old that appeared to be starving.

At the other side of the tunnel, we stumbled upon the Impound, finally; or more, the way we could get into the impound. Elite founders stood outside the large building, guarding it, and the only remaining way of getting on it was from the Skylines. There were two gigantic rocket-firing turrets set up that looked like honeycombs. A woman was preaching to her squad about the Vox Populi, discussing how they needed to "smother the baby in the crib," before it grows.

Booker, Will, Lucy and I crouched behind a wall of crates and waited. "What should we do?" I whispered.

"Only thing we can do," said Booker. "We'll shoot them." He turned around the corner and started to fire at them randomly with his carbine. Will jumped up and climbed on top of the crates, doing what he did, although with Sally. These Founders certainly weren't as foolish as the ones we'd fought before, though; they actually had some tactical experience. Those that didn't drop in the first ten seconds rushed towards cover or straight at us, though not recklessly. One of them pushed Booker to the ground and was about to put a bullet in his head, before Lucy slammed her pipe over the back of his head.

I heard soldiers from the other side shouting about "preparing the turrets," which I imagined were those giant honeycomb things. Will jumped behind the crates to reload Sally, and panted heavily, gritting his teeth. "Will, you can sit this out if you need to," I shouted, looking at the pained expression on his face.

A soldier rounded the corner and tried to slam the butt of his gun into Will's forehead, but he grabbed it first. He headbutted the soldier, pulled Sally on him and caused his head to explode, spattering the front of his suit with blood. "As a matter of fact, miss, no, I can't," he said, before jumping out from behind cover again. He started unloading Sally once more, jumping into the frying pan for everyone else. How noble of him.

It took them a good five minutes or so to even put a dent in this elite Founder force. This was really painful to watch; Will and Booker really needed some help, but I couldn't supply any. I looked around for tears; crates filled with ammo, though none for weapons Booker or Will were using at the moment, no turrets or anything I could help with. All I could do was sit around and wait for them to need something, in which case I'd throw it to them. I clenched my fist against my dress.

Booker groaned, before shooting at one last man on the platform we were on. "That's handled," he said, grimacing slightly. "But I took a couple of hits," he said, shaking his head lightly. Blood trickled down his arm.

"You and me both, pal," said Will. His hat had a bullet hole in it, where a soldier had narrowly missed his head, and his side was bleeding.

I ran towards him with wide eyes. "A-Are you okay?" I muttered, feeling air being dragged out of my lungs. _Say yes. . . I need you to say yes. _

He shrugged. "More or less. Could use a bandage or two, though."

I rummaged through what I'd mustered from the battleground furiously, looking for anything first-aid oriented. All I had was a cloth pad, though, which I proceeded to press to his wound and secure with some fabric from my dress. "You're gonna' be fine, Will, you're gonna' be fine," I repeated, more to myself than to him.

He tilted his head. "I know. Didn't I say I was okay?" He ruffled my hair and laughed slightly. "We aren't done yet, either. Take care of Booker, too."

"O-Oh, right! Sorry," I said, blushing furiously. _Why am I so nervous? _I proceeded to treat Booker's wound as well, but around halfway through wrapping the bandages, I noticed something.

Rockets, flying straight at us, from the mouths of those Honeycomb turrets. "Get down!" shouted Booker, shoving me behind some cover and taking some as well.

"Out of the frying pan," muttered Will, "and into the fire, I suppose," he said, watching the army of Columbian forces descended on us from the skylines.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24: The Impound

Booker's Perspective.

You know, this was getting more and more aggravating by the minute. Who knew that getting out of this city would be so much damn work?

My arm was bleeding from a wound I'd just been given, and Elizabeth only half-nursed it before those big honeycombs started shooting out explosives. The crates in front of us were only going to offer so much protection before they collapsed on us. The Skylines were the only method of transportation we had, and even if it's harder to shoot a moving target, automated targeting wouldn't have nearly as much of a problem. And they could still hit us, even if we were going as fast as we could. There was no tactical advantage. . .

"Booker," shouted Lucy, "you know what we need to do?'

"What?" I shouted back, peeking out from behind cover to fire some shots at the massive force in front of us.

"We need to get ourselves a personal army," she said, grinning, even in this combat scenario. It amazed me how positive she was in every situation. "Oh, look out!" she shouted, and I turned around just in time to load lead into a soldier who'd just rounded the corner. They sure were pushing up fast. Will was on the opposite side of the bay, standing behind crates as I was. He was looking for any chance he could find to peek out of cover, but none came. Eventually, he just started blind-firing around it, hitting no one - fatally, at least. He managed to land _some _hits. Not many, but some.

"Booker!" he shouted, keeping his head low. Bullets whizzed through the air next to us.

"Yeah?" I replied, firing my shotgun blindly over the corner of the crate.

"I'm going to go see if I can get a better look," he said, shoving Sally in his back pocket and pulling the sky-hook over his wrist. "Cover me, will you?"

"Wait, tha-" He didn't even wait for my input. He summoned a murderous flock of crows and jumped out from cover, using them as a shroud. He shoved the hook through a man's neck, spun around him, and then leaped from the dock, letting the magnetized hook do the rest. I fired into the crowd, enjoying the change of pace; them wondering what they'll do and me holding the cards in my hands. That change didn't last long, though; the crows disintegrated soon, and all that was left was a platoon of aggravated Founders.

I glanced at the Skylines to see how Will was handling himself. He had jumped off and was currently fighting inside one of the bell towers, dancing around and killing men left and right. More than a few jumped off of our platform and towards him, and more landed at his side every second. He was getting swamped, but at least now his position was a bit more favorable. Elizabeth stared at him with wide eyes, watching every close call with intensity.

I didn't have time to watch, though; I had work to do. I ducked out from behind the crate and pointed my gun towards my enemies, firing furiously into the crowd. It had thinned significantly now that their forces were spread across two battlefields. I saw Will occasionally blasting tendrils of water towards people on my side, wrapping them up and reeling them in, before executing them promptly with Sally. Sally only had so much ammunition, though, so I was at least a little concerned for his safety, capable as he may be.

I, of course, still had my own problems to handle. The Founders with their glowing goggles rushed towards me, all with pistols or machine guns trained on my position at all times. Thank whatever force is up there for this magnetic field around me; it probably saved my life, many times. I think I was starting to thin their ranks by the time the Honeycomb launchers were on me again, and I dived behind cover once more. I was determined not to let them get an advantage, though, and kept the pressure on, even in the midst of all the explosions.

I was beginning to notice a trend. More and more of them were pulling back to fight Will and less of them were staying to handle me. Why?. . .

He was out of ammunition, that was why. He was fighting them with a knife and whatever weapon he could pull off the nearest dead person. That usually didn't work for long, though; he had no ammo reserves for those weapons, and only had whatever was left in the clip. He was wrestling with a Volley gunner before I looked away to handle the four remaining soldiers on my deck. A few shotgun bursts and they were down for the count.

Elizabeth ran out from behind cover and jumped on the skyline without a second's hesitation. "Elizabeth, calm down," I called, before jumping on after her. I herd a metal click that indicated Lucy had jumped on too.

Well, now we were in a whole new world of trouble; A motorized patriot and one of the fancy regular turrets were propped up in front of the impound. I would've told Lucy to go make the turret ours, but it was lifted twenty feet off the ground, so that plan was shot. Speaking of shot, so were we; bullets whizzed past us from all directions, and I barely managed to hold onto the skyline for long enough to reach the tower with my shot arm. I jumped down next to him and heard him mutter "the cavalry has arrived." He had a scratch on his cheek and didn't look very good; but then again, none of us looked good right now.

We cleared out his platform with relative ease and Elizabeth grabbed his hands, asking if he needed anything, like she usually did. He asked her to keep a look out for salts and ammo for Sally, who "needed a drink", and then we crouched down on the pedestal, taking a look at the remaining defenses. On top of the Impound, there were more than a few soldiers; then, there were the ever-firing honeycomb turrets, and the automated defenses in front of the door. _Shouldn't be too hard._

Elizabeth grabbed Will a sniper rifle, tossed it to him, and he immediately crouched and put his eye to the scope. He set to thinning out the forces on the roof immediately. _Guess that leaves me to the machines down there. _He called out, "Booker, we'll handle those big bombing turrets right now. Okay?"

We started firing on them with any weapons at our disposal. Elizabeth and Lucy kept us supplied with ammo, surprisingly well, and we continued firing at them until their honeycombs were dented and disfigured. They didn't give out, though; we had to hide from their fire and the fire of the founders. The turret and the patriot couldn't really see us from our current position, though, so I suppose that was a plus. I peeked out behind cover for another shotgun blasted into the honeycomb, but I noticed it was twitching furiously. Like, vibrating, as if it was about to. . . "Hit the deck!" I shouted, before diving to the ground.

It exploded in front of us, shooting out a wave of fire all around it. People on the balconies near it were burned and more than a few of them wound up flying off the side. The light-show was almost enough to make me appreciate the effort, until I noticed we had another turret to take down. Will led us across the skylines and onto the adjacent tower, and we started firing at the other one in a similar process to before. Eventually it followed suit with its old friend and exploded as well, dead, for all intensive purposes. Will finished off everyone on the balconies, and the bulk of our work was complete. We hopped on the skylines again for our last ride.

We landed in front of the Impound and fired on the turret, which was taken down almost immediately. Our combined firepower was far too much for it to withstand. Then, there was the patriot, which fell almost as easily as it's companion had; a few shots to the gears and it was down for the count. _Don't get used to it being this easy. It'll never be this easy again. _The area was cleared out, though the firefight had been longer than any one I'd ever been in. Wonder how Will was holding up.

I answered my own question with a glance at his face. He was on the verge of collapsing, all his adrenaline venting out of him and his mind reverting to base mode. His face was pale and I could tell his headache hadn't died down yet. Lucy looked better than he did, but Elizabeth was still waiting on them as if they were diseased elders.

The doors to the police station creaked open and we stepped inside, our faces weary from the last battle. Inside was as I expected it to be; clean, for the most part, with a complex security mechanism for regulation visits. Of course, we weren't on any regulation visiting time right now, and it was deserted, anyways. The main hall, at least; I had no doubt that there was some security deeper inside. With any luck, the impound wouldn't be too deep in there.

We stepped into the next room, ignoring the mass of collected Vox weapons next to us; I preferred the weapons I had. Will was still low on ammo, but he didn't complain. In the room we were now in, there was a large booth where people could talk to policemen or criminals. The entire back wall was a window, glazed and reinforced of course, and upstairs I could vaguely see a locker room set out for the police. But I didn't have time to observe; what was more concerning was the police force in front of me, which I immediately started to fire at upon entering.

Will and I took most of them down in our initial attack, leaving two or three that had remained upstairs fine. "Will," shouted Elizabeth, from behind the counter, "Patriot behind you!" Will turned around just in time to meet face to face with the barrel of the patriot's gun, which slammed into his side and sent him flying away. I turned around and started to load bullets into the front of the thing, which generally had no effect;_ remember what I said about these things being easy? Forget what I said._ After returning from his dazed state, Will looped around and started unloading Sally into its gears, which caused its head to shoot off and start steaming, as it usually did when it suffered a lot of damage. Between our continual barrages, it collapsed to the floor pretty soon. I don't imagine Will got away fine after that hit, though.

I cleared out the rest of the room in a few minutes, letting Will take a well-deserved break. Elizabeth made a mountain out of a molehill and made every little thing about him into something to worry about. He continued pushing her off, walking around in a light-headed daze. "Let's just go find that control room. . ."

"You mean impound," I corrected.

"Impound? Oh, right. . . Got confused for a second," he said. "No need to worry."

"You're so difficult!" shouted Elizabeth, before storming downstairs. He tilted his head and looked down at her, unsure of what to make of it. I just shrugged, giving him a carefree expression, and marched down the stairs as well. Elizabeth as picking the lock to the door to the impound, still looking rather cross, but more embarrassed than angry. Lucy just crossed her arms and shook her head, and Elizabeth glanced at her, as if they were communicating in a silent language that only they could speak. I shot Will and expression that said _What's going on? _He replied with a shrug, _Got me. _Could've guessed as much.

The door dropped open and we stepped inside. The first thing I saw was the mountains of crates, all wrapped in chains. _How the hell did they get that in there? _Will whistled lightly and stared at it, a hand on his gun. "Damn. Booker?"

"Yeah?"

"How the hell are we going to _move _all of this?"

I fell silent immediately. _Of all the things to forget. . . _ He sighed and we paced down the stairs, going to get a better view. "So . . ." started Elizabeth. "This whole weapon thing, are we really helping these people?"

I shrugged. "Maybe."

"But if we get these weapons, people's lives will be changed for the better! It'll make everyone happier, and they can get rid of all the oppression."

"Not quite," said Will, attracting everyone's attention. His voice pierced the silence like a knife. As we continued down the stairs, he said, "Have you not noticed Fitzroy's behavior? The white folk don't like the colored folk, but they hold the power, so they put the colored folk down. After this revolution, well, the colored folk are gonna' have all the power. And they're not gonna' be too happy with the white folk. I mean, look at all the violence they're using already. They clearly don't care about anybody but themselves; their own upper circle. Now who does that sound like?"

"Comstock," said Lucy. "It sounds like Comstock's flock."

"I-I guess so. . ." continued Elizabeth, her will taken away slightly. "But what about the revolutions, like the one in Le Miserables?"

"Le Misa-what now?"

"You know, the play! They rebelled against their superiors and got a better life for themselves."

"If you say so," he muttered, obviously not wanting to put a damper on her spirits.

We continued the walk down to the tools in silence, no sounds other than our shoes clanging against the steel stairs. We arrived in the main chamber of the impound, and I stared at the giant mountain of tools in front of us. And I do quite literally mean _mountain. _I stared at it with a look of defeat. "Well great, now what are we going to do?"

I stared at it, looking for my answer. Then I noticed a feint sound coming from inside the pile. . . No, not inside the pile, but it was coming from . . . a tear. "Hey, Elizabeth?"

She nodded. "It's a tear. . . And none of the tools are here. Which means they must be . . ."

"back at the shop," we all said, simultaneously.

"C'mon, take us through, we need to get a move on." Will scratched his head and adjusted his hat's position. "Maybe this'll fix my head."

Lucy nodded. "I hope so. Mine's not much better, though I've learned to cope."

Elizabeth grabbed her thimble-covered finger and nodded. "Are you sure you're all ready for this?"

We all nodded. The answer was unanimous; the tear was opened. We were ripped through to another world again. I felt the ringing in my ears and looked at the grainy scenery changing around us once again. Will and Lucy grabbed their heads and I think started to scream, drawing a concerned look from both me and Elizabeth. It was too late to go back, though; we were through, and into the new world. Now the impound was filled with crates of . . . ironically enough, Vox Populi weaponry. Huh.

Lucy and Will had calmed down now, and both of them had looks or relief on their faces. I'm sure Elizabeth and I looked completely bewildered. "Oh," said Will, breathing heavily, "that feels _so _much better." Lucy nodded in agreement.

"You learn to appreciate how you normally feel after an experience like that," she muttered, leaving us just as confused. "So," she said, smiling radiantly. "Shall we continue?"

"I don't see why not," I muttered, before we started the trek back upstairs. I noticed something that I hadn't heard last time, though; screaming and explosions. People were shouting about the Vox arriving, certainly, but I couldn't tell what the source of all the explosions was. . .

"Are you sure you're okay, Will?" asked Elizabeth, holding his shoulder.

He nodded. "I'm fine," he said, "as I've said the last twenty times. It's my job to be fine."

The shouting grew more intense and we felt a fierce vibration throughout the police station. We picked up the pace and re-entered the main hall, looking at the once-dead soldiers grabbing their heads and wondering whether or not they belonged in this world. I was getting more and more concerned, though, that the shouting outside was a bigger problem. I stepped outside and let my eyes adjust to the brightness of the sun, which we didn't usually see in Shantytown, and was greeted by an incredible sight.

All the buildings were decorated with red curtains and Daisy Fitzroy posters. In front of us and on the skylines there was an entire platoon of Vox Populi forces, all armed to the teeth, fighting off a Founder platoon. The Founders were doomed before the battle had even started, though; the Vox Populi had a reason to fight, and they were using that reason to its fullest. The Columbians collapsed to their doom in front of us, and I gotta' admit, it was nice to be on the winning team for once. "Lucy?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we just got our personal army," I said, and she laughed.

"Guess so," she replied, before hopping onto the skylines. We all followed after her and flew around, taking a look at the scenery. Shantytown was just as gloomy as it had always been, but today, everything was decorated and red confetti was falling from on top of buildings. _Effective way to spend your resources, Fitzroy. _Gunshots and shouts echoed from all around, everyone in Shantytown taking up the cause. From the skylines, I could see women and children with weapons in their hands. Everyone was ready to fight for a better life. It was almost admirable, except I didn't care about any of it. I needed my airship.

We jumped off the skylines and landed, listening to the chorus of celebrating Vox Populi on this side, which helped with the wiping out of the Founder platoon from before. Some of them shot us angry glances before wiping the angry look from their faces and taking one of absolute gratitude. _Maybe we did do something in this universe. _Elizabeth looked confused and concerned. We kept wheeling through the streets, trying to make our way back up to Finkton and Chen Lin's factory. I had a bad feeling about this, though, as most everything had been giving me lately.

Something on the side of an office building caught my attention. A giant, six-story tall poster that had . . . me on it. Me, with my finger raised in the air, my name printed in large font next to it. "Booker DeWitt: The Martyr of the Revolution," it said, and I stared at it with wide eyes. "Hey Booker," called Will, "You're famous! Congratulations!"

"Booker?" called a Vox Populi man. "Did you say Booker? As in Booker DeWitt?" He stared at me as if God himself had just popped down from the sky and offered to buy him a drink. "Y-You're Booker DeWitt! The Martyr of the Revolution!" His eyes went wide and he ran off, probably to go tell someone I was alive. I was getting a headache. . . A serious headache.

"Booker?. . ."

"I. . . I remember. . ." I grabbed the side of my head. "Slate and I . . . we burned down the Hall of Heroes. We . . . We died inside." Memories that I didn't recall having ten minutes ago started to flood my head, taking the places of old ones. My memories fought each other for whose was real, and I honestly couldn't tell. _Is this what Will and Lucy meant?_

"Booker," said Lucy, "are you okay? You need to get your mind straightened out, okay? Ignore what happened to that Booker, and focus on this one, okay?" She talked me through it and I prodded at my nose; it was bleeding furiously, just like all the other half-dead people. Though, I wasn't going insane like they were, so that counts I suppose.

We were in the plaza we'd entered before, where Lucy and Will had collapsed, when I heard an ear-splitting noise, like audio equipment being turned on. I looked to the sky to see a giant red Zeppelin flying around with Daisy Fitzroy's face on it. "We're goin' to the Factory, to end this once and for all! Then, we go to Comstock house, but we ain't just gonna' burn it down! We gonna' pull it up from the roots!" The crows around shouted with glee and approval, chanting "Pull up the roots!" and "Fitzroy" and whatnot. I broke away from the crowd and entered the elevator. Everyone else followed suit, and I punched the button, sending us up.

"So in this world, the Vox already have their weapons. . ." said Elizabeth, looking out at the now-decorated streets of Shantytown. "I don't know who we're really helping here."

"If we're really helping anyone," I said. "Only difference between Fitzroy and Comstock is how you spell the name."


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Hey, this is going to be my last update until Sunday. I'm going to be out of town until then, and it's going to be hard to fit in enough writing. With luck, this chapter will be enough to keep you on the edge of your seat!**

* * *

Chapter 25: The Zeppelin

Will's Perspective.

The elevator opened and we were greeted by the sounds of a firefight again. _You know, I'm noticing we get less and less break time. _Booker and I hopped out with guns at the ready; Sally only had four rounds left in her, though, so I needed to find a way to fight without ammo until I got more. I contemplated vigors, but none of the ones I had would be particularly effective.

The Vox Populi were on one side of the bridge we had come across before, where I'd had a rather not-fun run-in with a Volley gunner. On the other side were their opponents, Fink's elite Founder force, which wasn't doing very well. They did have a sniper up on the bridge, which I pointed out. "Look out for that guy up there with the rifle," I said, rather nonchalantly. "Let's take cover in the ticket booth."

Booker too my suggestion and in we went, weapons at the ready. There was a Vox soldier standing inside, but he offered no opposition and only support. He pointed out a weapons cache at the back of the room, which Booker and I looked at immediately, memories running through our heads. _The vigor. _It was still sitting there, surrounded by ammo of all sorts, the bottle unscathed. Booker started to step towards it, but I grabbed him by the shoulder. "Ah-ah-ah," I said, grinning. "I won the first time, and thus, this bottle's mine." I pushed past him and ignored his complaints, taking the bottle and downing it and tasting the bitter liquid I'd grown familiar with through the salts.

I dropped it to the ground and felt the sensation in my hands, though this time it wasn't quite as painful as it usually was. They were being enveloped by a thin layer of mist, getting whipped around by what looked like miniature tornadoes. I heard the sounds of charging rams in the back of my head from a source that couldn't be identified, and before I knew it the feeling was over and I had a new toy to play with.

I pulled out my knife and put my other hand on Sally, taking a few steps outside. _Time to give this new toy a try, _I thought, before activating it in the natural process that became present as soon as you consumed the drink. I felt myself being enveloped by wind, and before I knew it, I was launched towards the nearest Founder, wrapped in a hurricane. I involuntarily drove my knife through his neck and watched as the life left his eyes, his head lolling to the side. I felt my physical form returning to normal as I dropped back to the ground and his body slid from the blade. I was in the middle of the bridge now, right in the middle of all the Founder forces.

I smirked. _I have a new favorite toy. _ I activated it again and wrapped myself in wind, before flying towards the nearest person. The hurricanes I left behind hurled other Founders around, so none of them could successfully attack anybody else. I could tell the Vox around me were rather enthused by the display; they were screaming and shouting and firing into the crowd with grins on their faces. I couldn't tell what Booker, or anyone else was doing, for the most part, completely absorbed in the task at hand. I crouched down and prepared to charge up once again, but nothing happened._  
_

_Oh, right. Salts._

I wasn't an unstoppable force enveloped in the power of the wind anymore. In fact, I was more vulnerable than I'd ever been; stranded in the middle of their forces with little help, no salts, and four bullets. I broke into a run and started towards the other side of the bridge, causing the morale of the Founders to skyrocket. "He's running! Get him!" shouted one, with a thick accent. I felt bullets whizzing past me and more ramming into the magnetic field that surrounded me. I was barely saved by the large brass pipe I dived behind just as the shield shattered. I swear a bullet flew right where my head had been just a few moments ago.

I took a moment to breathe and collect myself, observing the battlefield around me. The Vox were still certainly going to win this battle, and there was no doubt of that; they had Booker and me with them, not to mention there were five Founders for our twenty Vox. It was certain victory, and all I had to do was wait. So wait I did. I sat behind the pipe and stared out as the battle progressed, watching as our forces - including Booker - slaughtered everyone on the other side, screaming gleefully. Booker loaded a shotgun slug into the last Founder's back, and a cry went up around the Vox, praising him entirely. _Why does everyone fail to realize I exist? _

I stood up and dusted myself off, straightening my hat. Lucy and Elizabeth had now joined Booker, and it was just up to me to catch up. It felt nice to be able to fight without a migraine afterwards, I won't lie, but I was still pretty beat. That vigor was incredibly useful, though it couldn't be overused. Elizabeth crossed her arms as I walked towards her. "That was reckless," she said.

I shrugged. "Didn't have much of a choice. No guns, nothin' else too useful. It helped, didn't it?"

She groaned as we continued into the cargo loading and unloading room. Booker pulled the lever again, setting the crates in motion. "It just bothers me that you don't even care about it. You risk your life more than any of the rest of us, and you're so careless, but it doesn't even bother you. You've almost died countless times, but it never phases you. I have no idea how you do it. . ."

I tilted my head slightly. "I never really looked at it as risking my life carelessly. It's my job. Someone _has _to do it. Might as well be me, right?"

"Why might it as well be you?" Booker and Lucy observed the conversation silently, making the wise decision. "It's not like you don't have any purpose, and people would care if you went missing."

I shrugged. "Wouldn't have come up here if I was afraid of death, little miss. I've done things that no amount of life-risking can account for, believe it or not, but I still have to try." I stared at the far wall and waited for the crates to finish moving, letting us get out. _Just a bit more. . ._

"You may think that, but the fact is, you're important now. To _me. _So you _have _to stay alive. I won't let you do anything else. Now stop being so stupid," she said, before crossing her arms and turning away from me. "We've got to get moving," she said, before walking out of the unloading dock without the rest of us.

I looked at Booker. "What was that about?"

He shrugged. "Got me."

The Plaza was completely deserted. It looked almost as we left it; the gore was all still there, even if we were in an alternate dimension. I guess there were things that never changed and remained the same, even if put there under a different circumstance. This dimensional thing warrants some explanation.

We opened the door to Chen Lin's reception area, but were greeted by an entirely different sight than the usually-deserted room; we saw Chen Lin and his wife - still the white one - murdered brutally on the floor, just as tortured and maimed as he'd been in the other world, or perhaps even more. The room was coated with blood, and to be honest, it looked like . . . the Vox's work. "No!" shouted Elizabeth. "They're dead!"

I gritted my teeth, trying to remain nonchalant in the face of this brutality. "There's nothing we can do about it. . ."

Booker patted Elizabeth's shoulder and stared down at the bodies. "Come on. Let's go get that airship."

The Vox had amassed outside the door to the factory, all arriving while we examined the scene inside. They were cutting the lock with a welding tool; one that Elizabeth could probably pick, for that matter. The process was excruciatingly long. I tapped my foot and checked my pocket watch, before taking notice of something. The front of my watch was completely coated in blood. _My _blood, from all the wounds I'd suffered throughout this trip. My jacket was dyed with it as well, and I didn't want to see what my undershirt looked like. _  
_

The door finally came open, revealing the infiltration crew from the Vox. In the middle of the room there were some dead factory workers, piled up in the middle of a pool of water. They were all strangled and beaten to death, not shot; there were no bullet wounds. Their faces and bodies were bruised, and most of them had red marks around their necks where they'd been choked. Normally I'd cringe at such a sight, but as of late I'd been doing worse. The door on the opposite side of the room which connected this bridge to the factory was locked as well, and they set about burning through it now. Part of me wanted to ask Elizabeth to show them how it was done, but upon seeing her facial expression, I opted to wait a while and get prepared.

I felt a prod on my shoulder and turned around to see Elizabeth, barely mustering an obviously-fake smile. She held up a crate of ammunition. "For Sally," she said. "It should be enough to at least keep you safe, right?"

I smiled at her. "Of course it will. Thanks," I said, taking it and loading some of it into Sally. The rest of it went in various cartridges around my suit, ready for loading whenever Sally needed it.

The door was slowly getting cut through, and when it finally burst open, I think any morale the Vox might have had jumped out a window or something. The factory was far away, across a bridge that only offered low rising sections of it for cover, and their side was completely covered with their forces. They had two turrets set up; not regulation turrets, though. These ones fired rockets. Giant rockets that could easily wipe out five men at once. There were already blood puddles from where Vox Populi had tried and failed. Apart from those, there were two motorized Patriots guarding the staircase into the Factory, and Founders were jumping off the skylines left and right, armed with weapons ranging from basic pistols to complex rocket launchers.

I grasped Sally anxiously and rushed forwards, taking cover behind one of the low rising sections of the bridge. Elizabeth crouched next to me and Lucy and Booker took one slightly across from us. Most of the Vox rushed past us, only a few with ranged weapons remaining behind. I leaned forward and started to fire at people with Sally, but the rockets put too much pressure on for us to get out with much wiggle room. "Lucy!" I shouted, blindly firing around the corner with Sally. I heard a sound distinctly like a head exploding, so that was probably a good sign. "If I can cut you a path through the field, think you can get those turrets on our side?"

She nodded. "It'll be easy as cake, as long as I don't get shot while doing it. Think you can manage it?"

I stood up and pulled my knife out of its scabbard, holding Sally in the other hand. "Just leave it to m-" Elizabeth grabbed me and pulled me back down into cover before I could finish.

"Will, you promised you wouldn't do anything stupid anymore!"

"Uh. . ." _Did I really say that? _"This isn't stupid, it's necessary!" I broke free from her grip and stood up once more, vaulting over our small cover, despite her protests. Sally and I spilled blood all over the field, leaving large puddles of it underneath corpses. The forces weren't getting cut through as easily as they should have been, though. And it was all because the Vox couldn't deal with the turrets. Rockets can put quite a bit of pressure on, I suppose. I used Charge to get closer to the rocket-soldier standing next to one of the turrets and jabbed my knife into his throat, life fading from him. That was a load of work put off. "Lucy," I shouted across the battlefield, "Get a move on!"

She started to rush forwards with Booker behind her, him handling any soldiers she couldn't. I vaulted over the fence and ran back to where Elizabeth was taking cover, ignoring any rockets that whizzed past my head or exploded behind me, knocking me off balance. I pulled my rifle off my back and was about to look into the scope when I noticed Elizabeth staring at me with a cross expression. I shrugged at her. "What?" I asked. She simply ignored me and moved up, looking for supplies. I shrugged and stared through the scope, thinning the ranks behind the turrets.

I saw the red light above the rocket turret turn to a bright green and observed as it slowly began to rotate, firing on Founders instead of Vox. I internally celebrated while firing off the heads of Founders behind enemy lines, watching as she repeated the process with the second one. The battle was turning in our favor now that we had automated rockets doing all of our work for us; the Patriots were quickly eliminated, now piles of scrap metal, and the Vox charged forwards and handled any soldiers that had sheltered at the top of the stairs. "Victory is ours!" A chorus raised around us, raising their guns in a celebratory fashion.

As usual, they started cutting down the doors to open the lock. They were getting there when a large air-horn sounded off from our rights, and we all turned to see what the source of it was. As luck would have it, a giant, white, Founder-operated Zeppelin with rockets shooting out of every pore was staring over us, firing down into the crowd. The man operating the blow torch was killed, and everyone who survived or wasn't injured immediately jumped into cover. "They can't open it if we're getting fired upon!" shouted Booker.

"What do you propose we do?" asked Elizabeth.

"I've got an idea!" I shouted, before breaking into a sprint towards the Skyline. I heard Elizabeth shouting protest behind me, but I didn't have time to listen; my sky-hook hooked onto the line, and I was sailing towards it rather quickly. Booker jumped on behind me and I turned to face him, reloading Sally. "So," I shouted, "What do you propose we do?"

"I say we take the engine out and get the hell off that thing before it takes our heads - and everything else - off." I nodded in agreement and listened to the wind as we whisked through buildings, waiting until we were above the Zeppelin. My opportunity came just as we rounded some giant clock tower and the deck was directly below us. The whole thing was swamped with soldiers, though, who were using ropes to descend from the ship to attack the Vox. I jumped off the skyline and landed behind the lot of them, preparing a tendril of water.

"Here, let me help you with that," I said, before blasting a load of them off with the water. I pulled out Sally and blasted three rounds into the heads of those who remained. More came out from inside the ship, weapons raised and at the ready. Booker landed in front of me just in time to hurl a fireball at them, which exploded and sent them all off the boat, coated in red liquid. "Nice work, Booker, now let's go sabotage that engine." I leaned over the side of the boat and waved, hoping everyone down below had seen the light show. A giant cry went up all around us, so I imagined they saw me. I sighed. "Still got work to do."

We stepped inside the Zeppelin. To our right, there was what looked like the Captain's desk, had he been there; I assumed they were all at different war stations, or dead, by now. To our right, there was the engine, guarded by three Elite Columbians armed with shotguns and a motorized patriot directly in front of the engine. _Eh, that's not so tough. _Booker and I took cover behind one of the iron poles in the middle of the room, peeking out to fire at the commandos. I blasted the head off one of them with Sally, and I smiled with light satisfaction as I watched Booker down the other two. That was the easy part; now, for the patriot.

We couldn't get behind it to do any significant damage, and it was constantly winding up the crank gun, so it could turn us into corpses in a matter of seconds if we peeked out from behind cover. "Booker," I muttered, "start putting Shock Jockey traps on the ceiling. Loads of 'em. Connect them to him when I give you the signal, got it?"

He nodded and did as I said, lighting the ceiling up with a web of sparks. I moved up and waited behind the next column, barely avoiding a barrage of lead from the barrel of his gun. Booker fully coated the ceiling in the blue gel-like material, and then, it was time to launch our assault. I blasted it and the area around it with Undertow, and then gave him the signal. "Now!"

He fired one last gel ball onto the wall immediately behind the patriot and I watched as the area was enveloped in bright blue light. It shot out the sides of the zeppelin, hopefully giving everyone down below something to talk about. The Shock Jockey pumped electricity into the water, and, in turn, the patriot, causing him to vibrate furiously. He fell to the ground, immediately before exploding in a flurry of blue lightning and red fire. And, what do you know; he took out the chords that connected the engine, as well as doing a ton of damage to the balloon. "Will!" shouted Booker. "We gotta' get out of here!"

I nodded and stood up, rushing outside onto the deck. The cries down below were louder and more celebratory now, and I scanned the area for a skyline to use. There was one down below us . . . by about a hundred feet. "We can't make that!" I shouted.

Booker shook his head, "No, damn right we can't! We'll rip our arms off!" He grabbed the railing and clenched it until his knuckles turned white. "Just wait for a better opportunity!" I did the same thing he did and waited as the ship got closer to the skyline.

And then the balloon burned up. It started to plummet downwards at a speed much faster than before, and I barely heard Booker yell "Jump!" I leaped off the side of the ship without much direction, hoping that the magnetized hook would do the work. For a moment, I was just drifting through air, seeing nothing, but then I felt pressure on my arm and knew I was on a skyline. I sighed with relief. "Woo," I heard Booker shout over the wind, "that was close."

Down below us, a chant had been taken up: "DeWitt! DeWitt! DeWitt! DeWitt!" they were shouting, praising their savior.

"So why does everyone praise you and ignore me," I asked, smirking as we got closer to the docks.

Booker grinned. "The camera boy's only good at his job behind the scenes. He snaps the pictures, he's not in them, so just leave the glory hogging to me," he said, smugly. _I missed this Booker._

I smirked at him. "Damn you," I said, before jumping off the skyline and down onto the dock. I landed with a thud and Booker landed next to me with an identical noise, both of us breathing heavily. I glanced at him and grinned again. "We just took down a war zeppelin, didn't we?"

"Unless I'm dreaming, yeah, we did," he said, laughing slightly. It's not every day you do something like that.

I turned towards the crowd to see the girls running towards us. Lucy had her arms spread and looked completely ecstatic. Elizabeth, though - that was another story. She looked as if she was ready to rip my head off, running towards me with an expression no human should be capable of wearing. I was half-tempted to run away from her and live another day, but then I realized how insane that sounded. I waved at her with a cocky expression, only to hear her shouting "Idiot!"

Lucy rammed into Booker and wrapped her arms around him, giggling. "That was amazing, you guys!" She hugged me as well, smiling furiously. Then Elizabeth reached us. I stared at her expression, the anger in her eyes, and I'm sure she saw the confidence leaving my face. She frightened me, alright. She leaned closer to me, and I waited for the barrage of insults or scoldings, but that wasn't what came.

She rammed her lips into mine and wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling me into an embrace.

I wasn't sure what to do at first. It was completely and entirely unexpected, and I had no idea what to do in the situation. I subconsciously reciprocated and wrapped my arms around her waist, getting some strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. We stood there in that position for minutes, before she finally got bored and pulled back, her hands still nestled behind my neck. Her expression was replaced by a soft and kind one, staring at me happily. "Oh, thank God. . . I was so worried. . ." She grinned radiantly. "I thought you. . ." Her face flashed with realization for a moment and she jumped back, spinning around and lowering her head, her face beet red. "I-I'm so sorry! I didn't. . ."

"Hey," I said, but she ran off towards the factory before I could say anything. "Wait!" I called, but she was long gone.

Booker walked up behind me and patted me on the back. "Nice work," he said, grinning that evil grin of his. Lucy came up behind him with her arms crossed.

"It's about time she did something," she said, acting all matter-of-fact. "She's been like that since Battleship Bay with you. Can't believe you didn't notice."

I scratched the back of my neck. "I don't really know. Never had a keen eye for that sort of stuff."

"Evidently not," she said, before following after Booker.

_Well. That was an interesting development, I suppose. _I rushed after the rest of the group, trying to focus on the task at hand.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: I'm back now! I hope everyone had a wonderful weekend - I know I did - and now I'm back to keep updating! **

* * *

Chapter 26: The Kill

Elizabeth's Perspective.

_I just did that, didn't I? _The scene replayed in my mind repeatedly, and I had several mixed feelings. Enjoyment, confusion, anger, all boiled down into one. But mostly enjoyment. I won't lie, it felt amazing; something I've always wanted to do, and with Will, nonetheless. I don't know where the affection came from, but it was there. . . My heart beat faster when I saw him, I blushed when he spoke. I didn't know why; it was just a natural reaction.

The inside of the factory was rather ornately decorated - and I do mean was. What had used to be decorated by marble columns and unique tile patterns was now completely decimated by the Vox. Scorch marks and corpses were left all about, leaving absolutely none of the ornate aura it once possessed. Fink's reception desk was destroyed and had graffiti all over it, much like everything else. Most of the rooms in the building held the same characteristics as the first one, though some had barricades or sandbags stacked in them.

Even as I heard Will walking up the stairs behind me, my heart jumped into my throat. I tried to stare at the door and imagine that nothing happened, but of course, it'd never be that easy. I felt a hand on my shoulder and felt my heartbeat skyrocket. _Is it him?_ I thought. I slowly turned around, and sure enough, I was face to face with Will. I knew that my face flushed horribly. He smiled lightly and waved one of his hands. "Hey," he said, nonchalantly.

"H-Hey," I replied, trying way too hard to mimic his calm tone. _How does he do it? __  
_

He cleared his throat. "So," he said, "I guess we're clearing out this factory, and then we're off to Paris," he said, as we walked inside. The first room was silent. Booker and Lucy stood a little ways behind us, talking in hushed tones.

"I guess so. . . I just can't wait to see it all. Won't we have so much fu- oh, right. . ." He wasn't staying in Paris. He was going off to do work somewhere.

"What's so oh-right?" he asked.

"You said you weren't going to stay with us, in Paris," I said, with my face to the ground.

I felt his hand brush past mine and shuddered, and I heard him begin to say something, but he was cut off by gunfire. The Vox had finally encountered the Founders in the room up ahead. He grabbed Sally from out of his pocket and rounded the corner, firing into a crowd that I couldn't see. I stepped towards the other door and took a look in. The Founders really had prepared; they had four or five men in the room, along with a turret that fired rockets, much like the ones from before. The Vox's waves of morale-high murderers were far too strong for them, though, and I suspected they were just there to buy time.

With Booker and Will's help, the first wall of Founders got knocked over soon enough. Lucy was rather disappointed that no one had bothered to save the turret; she had insisted that it was a useful security measure and could stop any reinforcements from coming.

"Something tells me reinforcements aren't going to come through the front door," said Booker. "More like from the ceiling."

"You never know," she said, shrugging. "Either way, it's impressive technology. It almost breaks my heart to see it broken."

Booker laughed. "Don't worry, you'll get over it."

We walked through the double doors into the next room, the one where the elevators led up higher into the factory. I constantly glanced at Will, always to find him staring at me. I smiled sheepishly and he smiled in return, before clearing his throat. "I suppose we've got to take the remaining elevator shaft upwards." The factory was falling into disrepair; the elevator on the right was completely destroyed, and the entire shaft and part of the room was on fire.

I nodded. "G-Guess so. . ." _Why am I so nervous? _He stepped next to me.

"Something the matter?" he asked.

"N-No! Why would something be the matter? Nothing's the matter! I-I couldn't be happier!"

"Good. Me neither." He smiled again, more frequently than he'd ever smiled before. And this wasn't a sarcastic or humorous smile, it was a genuine smile.

"What do you mean?" I asked, hoping for the right answer.

"Well. . ." He raised his hand and brushed my hair aside. "You know," he said, and I felt my heart soar about fifty feet above the building. "C'mon, we got places to be."

We all stepped inside the elevator, and Booker punched the button, as he usually did. The elevator started to slowly rise, and I couldn't help but think about the man standing next to me. It was a little weird to think about. I was a strange girl with abnormal powers that hadn't even seen the world until a while ago, and he was a regular photographer who lived a regular - as far as I knew - life. And yet, here we were, him standing so close to me. . . He had to feel the same way I felt. I know he did. He just said that, didn't he?

I watched the panels in front of the elevator raise and disappear several times, revealing the production lines of Fink industries. The first few floors were what I might've expected; Vigors and vending machines being produced, on large assembly lines and conveyor belts. I noticed that Bucking Bronco was rather popular; out of all the vigors being produced, it was one of the most common. And that's when things started to get strange; on the next floor, all of the production was stopped and Fitzroy had propaganda posted all around the room, with red curtains everywhere.

Lucy scoffed at the scene. "Those two are just a perfect match for each other, aren't they?"

"Who?" I asked.

"Who do you think?" She winked, teasing me, before continuing. "Fitzroy and Comstock. They both survive off each other. Comstock needs someone to direct the hate of his people at, and she needs someone to hate to give the Vox a reason, a purpose. The thrive off one another, even if they are enemies. Our time in Finkton sure has taught us a lot. Fink, Chen Lin, the Vox-"

"That makes sense, I guess," said Booker. "But we've got to get out of here and leave this all behind."

I choked down a sob slightly, thinking about this entire Finkton fiasco. "I can't believe May Lin and Mr. Lin wound up dead. . . all because we were too careless. Am. . . Am I responsible?"

Will wrapped his arm around my shoulder, cradling me into his neck. "There was nothing you could do. You had no way of knowing that he was going to die, no matter what we did."

"Besides, it wasn't our fault," Booker said. "We just need to get our airship and get to Paris."

I reeled on him, breaking away from Will's embrace. "You seriously think we're innocents in this and it doesn't matter? We had a part in their death, Booker. Whether you realize that - or care, for that matter - is up to you, bu-"

I was interrupted by the phone ringing by the elevator's side, and an abrupt jolt stopped the elevator in its tracks. I stumbled to the side slightly, as did Booker, but quickly regained my balance. He answered the phone, tilting his head in confusion.' Uhh. . . Hello?" he said. "Fink?"

"I saw you die, Booker." The voice belonged to a woman; I assumed it was Fitzroy. "With my own two eyes."

"Look, Fitzroy, we got you your guns. You owe us an airship."

"You ain't my Booker DeWitt, though. _My _Booker DeWitt was a hero to the cause. _My _Booker DeWitt gave his life for the Vox. He was a story to tell your grand kids. But you. . . You just complicate his narrative."_  
_

The elevator kicked into gear again as Fitzroy left us, leaving the phone dangling. "Well," Will said, "that didn't sound nice."

The door clicked open and we stepped outside, looking at a group of Vox soldiers staring at some Founder corpses. We stepped out of the elevator and started to walk through the room. The Vox remained completely silent, staring at us from under their tarps. The premonition I felt refused to go away, indicating that I was probably right.

And what do you know, I was. They pulled their guns off their belts and pointed them at us. Fortunately, our boys were quicker than them, so Will and Booker had shots fired off before they'd all even all aimed at us. Two of them dropped dead in our initial fire, and Lucy and I dived to the ground. I didn't see what else transpired, other than the movement of feet, but as usual, the pair walked away unscathed. Will helped me to my feet, sighing slightly. "So that's an ally down the drain."

I nodded, not letting go of his hand yet. "This is going to be a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. . ."

He nodded, and we rounded the desk in the center of the room. "The docks are right up here," said Booker. "The First Lady's going to be right out there. We need to be ready." He pumped his shotgun and tossed a box to Will, who caught it and started to load Sally. "Everyone good?"

I nodded reluctantly, and Booker took a position near the side of the door. Will kicked it open, and I covered my eyes as the bright light entered the room from the outside. After they adjusted, I noticed it was a large loading dock; there was the upper level, where Fink's office was, and the lower one, where airships docked and left their loads to be moved by loading crews. Everyone that wasn't a member of a militant force had evacuated, though. In front of us there was a large staircase, which we walked up with caution. In front of us was a big, glass window, and behind it, Fink was cowering for his life, begging an unknown assailant to cease their assaults. Suddenly, a bullet flew through his head and into the window, leaving a giant splatter of his blood left behind it. He fell to the ground, dead, and out from the shadows stepped Daisy Fitzroy. She glared at us and wiped some of Fink's blood onto her hand, before smearing it across her face, much like the face paint her companions wore.

I cringed at the display of violence as the PA above us crackled to life. "Kill the impostors. I want them dead, all of them." Sirens went off all around us and airships coated in red fabric arrived from all sides, dropping off Vox Populi soldiers. We were completely surrounded, for all intensive purposes, and I didn't see any way we were getting out of this. I turned around to see if the Factory was still open, but a Handy-Man was standing right in front of the door, cracking his giant metal knuckles.

"This isn't going to go well," muttered Will, his hand on Sally and the other holding the knife. Booker held the shotgun with both hands, staring down the sights at anyone close enough for him to shoot. For a moment, it was a stand-still, just us staring them down and them staring us down.

And then, chaos broke loose after Will fired the first shot.

The however-many Vox surrounding us broke into runs towards us, fighting with all their might. The Handy-Man jumped from his position and dived towards us, his fist pointed towards Booker. He dived to the side and Will started to shoot the Handy-Man, obviously deciding to get the biggest problem down first. That didn't seem like it was going to happen, though; the Vox certainly didn't let up. Will grabbed my hand and started pulling me away from the fight, running to a safer position, Lucy and Booker at our heels. I looked around for anything I could to help; tears, weapons, anything. Nothing except a giant metal rod with a sphere on top of it came up. A Tesla coil, if I recalled correctly.

"Elizabeth!" Booker shouted. "Open that tear!"

"What?" I shouted, even as I did what he said. I opened the tear and we crouched behind some brass pipes, waiting for the mass to arrive. I tried to get a count on how many Vox there were; around thirty or so, less than I'd initially expected but more than I think any of us wanted to deal with. As they approached the Tesla coil, bolts started to shoot out of it, electrocuting them and causing them to drop dead. Booker started preparing Vigor traps all around, while Will waited for his opportunity to strike at the most convenience. He still got shots in with Sally, dropping foes left and right.

Just when things were going well, of course, the Handy-Man jumped over our cover and grabbed Will by the waist, picking him up and tightening his grip around him. Will fired at the beast's face, but the shots that did land did nothing, and it was hard to aim when you were being shaken around like that. My heartstrings were plucked as the machine flung him into the far wall on a platform up above us, and jumped after him in pursuit. I couldn't follow them, but there was no where I'd rather be. I just had to sit and hope he could handle himself, all while my subconscious begged me to see if he was alright.

In the mean time, I monitored the area for supplies or tears that I could open to help Booker. For now, he was fighting the waves of the Vox Populi alone, but they were dropping like flies. Because they were in such a large group, they felt confident, so they didn't bother to take cover or anything. Booker had brought the numbers down to eleven in mere minutes, with a shotgun and some Devil's Kiss traps. That was when they started to get more cautious, trying to keep their range from the Tesla coil and stay out of Booker's path of fire. Some were too close to us and got fried by the Tesla coil, and that was when that luck ended.

The rest of them were the smartest and strongest Vox that hadn't gotten killed in the initial rush, and to get to them, Booker'd have to walk twenty feet with no cover and no assistance, unless Will dropped out of the sky right about now. I started to think it might happen, but it didn't. _How long is he going to be up there?_

"Elizabeth," said Booker, snapping me back into reality.

"Hm?" I asked, surveying the area.

"If you can close the Tesla tear and open that one over there," he said, pointing to a tear that contained one of the flying Mosquito turrets, "I can get towards them and end this and we can get to Will and the Handy-Man. Okay?"

I nodded and did as he asked, removing the Tesla coil from this plane of existence and bringing in the turret. It was behind them, so they all jumped out of cover to try and find some that was favorable to them. Fortunately, when they alternated sides, they came face to face with Booker, who had his shotgun loaded and ready. One fell, then another, and another, until one or two were left. Booker gritted his teeth. "You're the man from the ship the other day," he said, aiming the shotgun to his head. "This is for that punch in the face," said Booker, before he pulled the trigger and out shot the man's blood. I turned my head away from the gruesome scene, never getting used to things like that. I hoped I never would.

Booker finished off the Vox forces and everything grew quiet. Eerily quiet, and I was frightened for a moment that Will had been killed by the Handy-Man and it had retreated. The thought alone gave me misty eyes.

But thankfully, the sound of a sky-hook grinding across a skyline filled the air and Will jumped down into the middle of the corridor, raising his pistol into the air. The Handy-Man jumped down, its head now wrapped in red curtains that obscured its vision. Will fired at its heart, and Booker decided to jump in as well, blasting it with electricity. It flailed around randomly, trying to hit any one of us, but we were out of its range and it was too stupid to try and move to hurt us. With a single remaining shot from the barrel of Will's gun, it dropped dead, electricity spouting from its back.

He breathed deeply, grimacing with pain. He certainly hadn't gone with no injuries, that was for sure, but I was just glad he was okay. I ran towards him and wrapped my arms around him, spinning with delight. He reciprocated the action, though he wasn't as enthusiastic as I was. "What's the occasion?" he asked, setting me down.

I pouted at him. "You could've just gotten yourself killed!" I put a hand on his chest, before continuing. "You're not allowed to get yourself killed anymore. You mean too much to me."

He shrugged. "Nothing new there," he said, before pulling away from me. "Now, we've got to go get Fitzroy."

we ascended the staircase we had been on a few moments before, waiting for Fitzroy to arrive at one of the windows. I slowly saw her figure come into the light, and what I saw horrified me. She was holding a gun to a child's head, her back facing us, threatening to kill it. "No!" I shouted. I grabbed Will's hand and scanned the area. "You need to get me in there," I pleaded, finding a ventilation shaft. "Please, boost me up into it!" I pulled the lid off of it and stepped inside, my hands shaking back and forth. _I have to do something. . ._

I crawled through the shaft and wound up on the other side of the room. I heard Fitzroy talking to Booker and everyone on the outside. She still had the gun to the child's head. . . "You see, the Founders; They just like weeds, y'know. If you cut 'em down, they just grow back!" I scanned the room for something- anything - that could help. I settled on a large pair of scissors, panicking. "You gotta' pull 'em up from the roo-"

She stopped abruptly as I plunged the scissors into her back and through her spine, splattering her and myself with blood. I felt it on my face, my hands, my clothes. The blood of another person, who I'd just killed. I just killed Daisy Fitzroy.

She collapsed on the ground in front of me as the door slowly opened, the child running out and away. I was bloodstained. I didn't want anyone - not Will - to see me like this. I stared down at my hands, still unable to grasp what I'd just done. Will stared at me and reached forwards to comfort me, but I raised the scissors in fear. "Whoa! Easy there," he said, stepping towards me still. _Don't let them see me like this. . ._

I started to run. The First Lady was right down that corridor. I ran and ran and ran, until I was inside. I heard the rest of them running after me, but I just ran inside and into the backroom where Lady Comstock would've stayed and slammed the door shut, locking it. I couldn't even grasp what I'd just done. I was a killer. A killer.

I rifled through all the doors and cabinets until I found some kind of dress - a replica of the ones Lady Comstock wore in every picture - and I changed into it, not wanting to ever see those clothes again. I looked at myself in the mirror, not seeing the same woman; someone completely different stood in front of me. I grabbed a knife from the drawer and cut off my hair, staring at the ponytail. I watched as it fell to the ground, all that remained neck-length raven hair. I couldn't see the woman I used to think I was anymore.

I heard a fist slamming against the door. "Elizabeth!" It was Will. He was shouting for me. "Come on, open up! I need to talk to you!"

I slowly approached the door and opened it. He took a minute to observe me, before nodding slowly and stepping inside. "Look. . ." he started, but I didn't bother to let him finish. I ran into him, burying my face in his chest, sobbing wildly. I couldn't control it anymore. I just broke down, sobbing madly into his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, and I felt comforted by his presence. "Hey. . . You did the right thing. . ."

"No I didn't!" I shouted, still unable to regain my composure. "I killed someone! With my own two hands!"

"You did what you had to do. . . I know it doesn't feel good, and it never will. You'll never forget what just happened. But . . . you have to live with it. It's the only way anything will get better." He rested his hand on the back of my neck and looked into my eyes. "Promise me that you'll let it get better. No one's going to judge you any differently, we've all done worse here. I admire what you just did; you showed remarkable strength. So let us help, okay?"

I nodded slowly to him and lowered my eyes, not wanting to face him. He pulled my head forward and kissed me, and I reciprocated, finding joy in him being there. _I still have one thing that I have to look forward to. . ._ "S-So. . ." I asked him, after pulling away from his embrace, "You're going to stay with me in Paris, right?" I wiped away my tears and started to head towards the door, figuring Booker and Lucy needed to know I was alright.

"Of course," he said. "I'll always be there for you."


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27: The Ambush

Lucy's Perspective.

Will and Elizabeth walked out from the back of the airship. They had been talking about something, and had been in there for a little while now. _Good for her. She deserves some good news in the face of this crisis, even if it's from him. _It was a little strange how all of our relationships had evolved so fast; a few days, actually, and those two were already lovebirds. Will was like an older brother to me, and Booker was everyone's grumpy grandpa. It was very strange, actually, how four strangers - excluding the boys, they knew each other - had such chemistry.

Elizabeth had completely updated her wardrobe, including her hair, which was now significantly shorter than it had been before. She changed her clothes, probably due to all the blood on the other ones, and I couldn't help but notice how much more mature she looked. The dress - elegant, but revealing - was incredibly unlike the childlike personality I'd come to love.

Booker was fiddling with the controls on the console, messing with the coordinates and speed of the airship. He had absolutely no experience of what to do and I contemplated getting up to help him, being the mechanic I am, but I was too tired and too comfortable on this couch to get up and move. I waved at Elizabeth as she walked through the corridor next to Will, and beckoned her over. "So. . ."

"So?" she asked, trying to look happy for my sake.

"So now we're heading to France!" I pulled her down onto the couch next to me and she laughed slightly, though it wasn't genuine. "Paris is going to be amazing. What do you think you'll do once we get down there?"

"To be honest. . . I wasn't sure we were ever going to get down there."

Booker jumped into the conversation. I glanced at the coordinates just to double-check that we hadn't been bamboozled and sent to New York, but it read off as Paris, sending a look of relief across everyone's - except Will's - face. "Well, we're going down there right now." He rested his hands on the back of his head, sighing deeply. "I'm just glad it's all over."

"Dammit, Booker," said Will, under his breath. "You just ruined it."

We all looked confused, I'm sure. "How?" we asked simultaneously.

"By saying that. You ruined it."

". . . Again, how?" he asked.

"You just said that it's _all over. _And because we have _your _luck on board, which hasn't gotten anyone anywhere ever in the history of anything, it's all going to come crashing down and we're going to wind up in some other terrible situat-"

As if on cue, the Comstock statue on the far side of the room lit up. It started whistling some fancy tune on an unseen instrument and its eyes blinked bright yellow. It would've been a rather chipper song if it wasn't for the steam shooting out of its back and the loud shriek that accompanied it. Elizabeth and Booker froze, leaving Will and I confused.

"Uh. . . Am I missing someth-"

A giant, brown figure flashed in front of the airship, throwing it out of balance. Elizabeth and I fell off the couch and I couldn't see what happened to Booker and Will. I scrambled to my feet and ran towards the cockpit to see what had just flown in front of us, and it was turning around directly towards us. Our old friend Songbird had decided to drop in for a visit. "God. . . Give me some help here, Booker!" I started adjusting the levers on the console, but this thing operated solely on wind-power, which didn't offer much variation in speed unless the weather allowed it.

"There's gotta' be some kind of speed control on this thing!" shouted Booker.

"Sorry, but I'm afraid it doesn't!"

Elizabeth was completely collapsed in fear, completely unable to move. I glanced forwards to pull on the coordinate lever and adjust our course, but was met with a much more concerning sight; Songbird crashed directly into our cockpit, knocking us all backwards and onto the ground. "Hang on!" Booker shouted, grabbing onto the wall as well as he could.

I grabbed the post next to me and stared at the bird's head. I hadn't gotten a good look at it the first time it assaulted us, but I kind of wish I hadn't gotten one this time. It had a large oxygen tube connected to its beak, its eyes glowed a bright, menacing red, and it shrieked at us, waving its arms around. When it balled its fists up, they were packed under large claws, and it started ripping the First Lady to shreds of scrap metal. I felt us plummeting downwards when it ripped away from the ship, and the First Lady started spinning more and more wildly. We fell from the floor to the ceiling; Booker landed on his head, falling unconscious with a grunt. Will was up against the back wall, barely standing, with nothing to hold onto, and Elizabeth was currently face first on the floor.

Other than the whipping of air through the ship, everything was silent. None of us screamed or shrieked or anything. We were falling down into the city; a part of Columbia I'd seen before, the upper quarters near the Market district.

"No!" I heard Will shout, as gravity caught up with him and he was pulled down and towards the broken window. He grabbed the frame for what used to be the window that looked out, cutting his hand on the broken glass. I heard him curse something under his breath. I only saw him for a few more seconds before the airship slammed into something and we all fell backwards. He flew out of the airship, and I slammed my head on the far wall, knocking myself unconscious.

When I woke up, I saw Booker and Elizabeth prying open the door to the airship. Will wasn't anywhere to be seen. I slowly got to my feet and they took notice, running towards me. "Are you okay?" asked Elizabeth, pressing a hand to my head. When she pulled it back, I saw that her finger had some blood on it - mine, I assumed.

"Yeah. . . Little light headed, but yeah," I said, smiling as warmly as I could manage. "How bloody am I?"

"Just a thin line," she said, before running back to the door. "Get it open, Booker!" she shouted, as if it was of the utmost importance.

Outside, I heard two people conversing. Their voices sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. They were playing a piano, and trying to piece together a song. Every time they played a note, they either said, "No, not that," or "Yes. Yes, that's it." They were a little bit into their catchy little tune when Booker and Elizabeth rushed outside, the latter screaming protest.

I peeked out the door to see what was going on outside. The couple consisted of the same people we'd seen in Fink's Good Time Club prison cells, who sent us on the whole dimensional goose chase in the first place. They were sitting next to a piano, and Booker and Elizabeth sprinted at them. "Stop it! Stop it," she shouted, but they were already done. "No. . . It's coming!" She cowered in fear.

"Not quite," said the man. "The notes were correct."

"The instrument? Was not," his accomplice replied. _Can they just say things in one straight sentence? _

"You need both for him to respond."

"But if you know how to sing to him,"

"he will take you where you need to go." The red-haired gentleman leaned forwards, offering Booker a card that detailed the Songbird defense mechanism as I jumped out of the ruinous aircraft.

"Just . . . who are you?" asked Elizabeth.

"We are where we're needed," said the man,

"and needed where we are," continued the woman. "Oh, and shouldn't we check on the seeds, in the mean time?"

Booker leaned forwards to look at the card. "As a matter of fact, we already have. And they're growing quite nicely." I blinked, trying to understand the meaning of that sentence, but when my eyes opened again they were gone.

"I don't know what I expected," said Booker. "At least they left us a nice piano." He chuckled and started to push it out of the way.

Elizabeth approached me. "You know what their problem is?"

I shrugged. I couldn't help but feel something was the matter.

"Oh, and where's Will?"

_Oh, right. Will. _"Oh, I think he fell out of the airship or something when we crashed."

Both Booker and Elizabeth's faces flashed with panic. "What? What do you mean he fell out of the airship?" asked Booker, leaving the piano unattended. Elizabeth's eyes grew misty.

I grabbed her hand and started pulling her towards the wreckage of the airship to search for our lost companion. "Oh, don't be such a worry-wart, he's fine, I'm sure. He probably only suffered a li-"

That didn't work like I had intended it to. She started to cry worse than she had before, sobbing into her hands. I could tell she was trying to say something, but I didn't fluently speaking Cryanese. Booker placed his hand on her back and tried to comfort her, and they both came to the conclusion that Will was completely and entirely dead, lost from us forever.

That is, until they noticed me pointing straight at the lout, who stared at us with a confused expression. The only injury he suffered was the one on his hand, which he'd already nursed with some fabric from an unknown source. "Somebody die?" he asked, unknowing of the irony he'd just created.

Elizabeth slammed into him. "Don't you ever scare me like that again!" Just as quickly she turned around, huffed, and crossed her arms, walking away from him.

"What did I do?" he sent me a confused look, and I shrugged.

"I'll explain later. In the mean time. . ." I kicked what used to be the First Lady's hull. "Our ride's shot."

"And we can't get out with Songbird patrolling the skies," continued Elizabeth. "So what's the plan."

Booker flashed the card in front of our face. "We'll go see the Prophet himself and learn how to deal with Songbird, once and for all, be it taming him or some other solution." He pushed the piano out of the way and gestured towards the corridor, letting us go forwards. The first thing we saw upon emerging from the crash-site was Comstock house itself, sitting on the horizon with smoke coming out of its smokestacks. "There it is," he said. "If we're gonna' find him, he'll be there."

A voice came over a microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Vox are coming for us! We need to get on the airship and evacuate!" The revolution had spiraled out of control, just as we'd thought it would, though I never planned on being around to see the aftermath. "Please throw any unnecessary belongings overboard! We need more room on the airships!" A crowd was gathering by the side of one of the islands, jumping onto an airship that was being used to evacuate.

"Come on, honey, jump!" shouted a man from the side of the ship. "Jump! You can make it!" He was dressed in a suit with a bowler's hat on, and his wife was wearing an ornate dress with a similar hat.

"No! No I can't!" she shouted, fearfully stepping backwards.

"Oh, come on, captain, can't we get a little closer to the dock?" The boat started to shift position's quickly, and she jumped on, clinging to her husband for dear life.

"Did we really cause this?" asked Elizabeth, observing the scene in front of us. "Is this all our fault?"

"I guess so. Though there wasn't really any-"

"Lucy?" I heard someone call from behind me. I'd recognize the voice anywhere. "Lucy!" I turned to face him; My father, dressed in the same clothes I'd seen him in when we last met, holding a large suitcase. Next to him was my mother, wearing a black dress.

"Father?" I ran towards him and wrapped my arms around him. "Father, I'm so glad you're okay!" I pulled back and looked up at him. "What's going on? Why haven't you two left yet?"

My mother scoffed, as she usually did before answering one of my questions. "Well, isn't it obvious, dear? The Vox Populi rebellion has left us stranded here, and until it's quelled, we're going to have to stay in Columbia." She opened her mouth widely. "Oh, and I almost forgot. Happy birthday, dear!"

_. . . My birthday? My birthday's not 'till tomor-_

_Oooooh. Right. We must've been unconscious for that long. So today is my birthday, I suppose. _

"Birthday?" asked Will. "Why wasn't I informed it was your birthday?"

"I completely forgot," I replied. "Mother, father, you remember Will, right?"

"Of course," replied my father, shaking his hand. "I have to thank you for watching after my daughter for so long, sir. It's truly been a kindness to us. I hope you wouldn't mind doing it a little longer. Oh, and who are these two?" he asked, gesturing to Booker and Elizabeth.

"Long story," I replied. "You two have a ship to catch, don't y-"

"The ship is filled to capacity! Please advance to the next dock, outside Comstock house, for the next evacuation!" called a man on the airship, which drifted off.

"Well now we don't," replied mother. "Would you four mind terribly if we accompanied you to the next outpost?"

"Not at all," said Booker. "Let's get a move on." Elizabeth and Will locked arms and we started to walk through the ruined streets of the upper quarter.

Most everything that used to be beautiful was completely and entirely destroyed by the Vox. Cover was set up all around the area, and blood residue from firefights was spilled throughout the streets. The buildings had bricks knocked out of them, and sometimes entire walls missing. I sort of wished this whole "False Shepard" thing had never happened.

Booker raised his hand with two fingers extending from it, giving us the "silent" signal. Some Columbian soldiers stood on the other side of the bridge we were about to cross, and we all dived into cover. "So, you heard?"

"Heard what?"

"'Bout Fitzroy. Someone did her in. Not sure who, not sure how, but she's dead." Elizabeth cowered slightly on that note.

"Ah, dammit, now things are just going to go downhill again. It'll just be another Booker DeWitt situation; a martyr for people to must behind. Hero of the people." One of them spat at the ground.

While they continued conversing, Booker and Will moved up slightly to the opposite sides of the bridge. Will counted off from three on his fingers, and when he balled up his fist, they both moved out of cover and shot, resulting in two dead men. They relaxed slightly, lowering their weapons, but that was a mistake; a whole squadron of soldiers popped up where the others had fallen. The gunshots must have attracted them. Will fired into the crowd spontaneously, trying to avoid getting shot at. I turned around to see if I could find anything, but then I saw soldiers gathering on that end as well. A whole lot of them.

"Booker? We've got a situation!" I shouted, as he ran to cover the other side of the battlefield. Will was fighting them across the narrow bridge, Booker fighting across the brick stairs that we'd ascended a few moments ago. Every time someone fell, another someone came. Firemen jumped down from the building above us, landing in the center of the battlefield. Will blasted at them with Undertow, but they'd finally started to adjust and could get out of the way before the tendrils wreaked their havoc on them. Will and Booker were frantically dancing around the battlefield, and Elizabeth and I were doing our best to stay in cover. My father was behind a bench, but I couldn't see my mother. She had disappeared, and I felt a twang of worry. But I didn't have time to worry.

I was scanning the horizon for something - anything - worth using, but I couldn't find anything. Our position wasn't advantageous in the slightest. We had minimal cover, no where to run; all we could do is hope that Booker and Will could shoot at something and have some result. I saw Elizabeth looking for tears, but there weren't any.

I saw Will wrestling with one of the firemen, before hurling it over the edge of the island. He ran towards Booker after engulfing his current opponents in crows. "Booker!" he shouted, reloading Sally. "We need to fight them all on one front, or this won't get anywhere!" They switched positions and started firing at the opposite crowds.

"You think I don't know that?" Once again they alternated, fighting like clockwork. Though clockwork can only get so far in a situation like this. "There's nothing we can do!"

In front of the pair, a black cloud condensed and out popped a member of the Fraternal Order of the Raven. He swung his sword towards them, shattering their shields and sending them flying with their backs against the wall. "Will!" shouted Elizabeth, before rushing to his side to check for injuries. I did the same for Booker.

In just a few moments, all the soldiers surrounded against the wall, all with guns trained on everyone, excluding Elizabeth, who they needed alive. "My sweet lamb," we heard on the public announcement system above us. It was Comstock: "It's about time you started to be a little more obedient, don't you think?"

Elizabeth growled. "I don't need to listen to you! You're a liar, and a terrible man!"

"Oh, I'm a liar? My sweet, those around you have done much worse." One of the soldiers kicked at my stomach, and I felt all the air knocked out of me.

"Wait!"

I heard my mother shouting from the crowd. She was fighting through all the soldiers. "You promised you wouldn't hurt my daughter if I helped you catch them!" She burst through the front lines and crouched next to me, holding my hand. "Are you okay, dear?"

_. . . Why didn't I see that coming? _My mother had always been a liar. She was never nice to me or anyone else. I thought she was just toughening me up, though. . . I ripped my hand away from hers and scrambled towards the wall. "Get away from me. . . Get away!" I shouted.

". . . Dear?" I heard my father say. "I-Is that true?"

"Of course it is!" she spat at us, fury on her face. "But I was only doing it for you, Lucy! You're with the wrong kind of people here, the wrong kind of sort! Comstock told me everything he knows about them. I couldn't let you stay with them after all I heard."

Will froze visibly. "E-Everything?" he asked, breathlessly.

"I don't care what he said! These people are far nicer than you could ever be, mother, if I should even call you that!"

"Oh, but miss Steele, they're not. Far from it." Comstock spoke again, laughing slightly. "Has Will told you anything about what _he _used to do? Who _he _was?"

". . . Will?" said Elizabeth, staring at him. He was deathly pale. "What's he talking about?"

". . . No." He muttered. He grabbed Sally and started firing into the crowd, killing the Crow and several others. "No, no, no!" He shouted like a maniac, firing at everyone. Two men grabbed him by the shoulders and tossed Sally to the ground, but he wasn't phased. He grabbed his knife and drove it through one of their wrists, and the other one's windpipe shortly after that. He wrestled with the crowd that tried to hold him down, all while he shouted the same thing. "No! Don't say it!"

"Yes. . . Mr. Foreman. At first, you alluded me, even the prophet, somehow tricking God himself. What a sinner you must be, that even the Lord denies your existence." Comstock laughed again. "To think I let you come into my city before this. Now, my dear lamb, the man you see here, who you've loved, he is not who he says he is. Would you like to know?"

"No!" he shouted, wrestling against everyone. "Don't you dare, Comstock! I don't need to be reminded!"

"But they must know the truth! Or would you still lie to them? Even Booker?" he continued, getting amusement from this.

All of us stared with bewilderment, ignoring my mother's treachery. "What does he mean?" asked Elizabeth. "What does he mean, Will?" She demanded, her tone commanding and fierce.

Booker stayed silent. His weapons were confiscated as well, and the two were left on their knees, staring up into the sky to listen to Comstock.

"Your friend, Will? He's a killer."

"We already know that," I said, "but he does it because he has to. It's necessary."

"That's not what I meant, dear. He's a completely different _kind _of killer."


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: I've got two chapters out today to give you a little something to chew on for a little bit 'till the next one's out. Hope everyone likes the format for this one.**

* * *

Chapter 28: The Truth

Will's Perspective.

* * *

_A time long passed. . ._

I sighed, staring up at the ceiling. "Today is so boring," I muttered to myself, staring at its blank whiteness. I couldn't afford a fan or furniture, or even electricity as it was, so I just stared up at the ceiling. All the time. When I wasn't working, of course. I was actually getting ready for work right now. Not like there was much getting ready to do; I had already packed my camera and "special equipment", so for the most part, I just had to wait two minutes until I had to leave. Being early was too much effort.

My uniform consisted mostly of what it usually did; A black suit, a black fedora, a white shirt, and a black tie. I hadn't shaved in a little while and had a thin shadow, but I didn't really care. All the better, I looked less approachable. I'd always had a problem with people, and I didn't think I'd ever grow out of it. I still don't know if I have.

After a little while longer of staring at the ceiling, two minutes passed and I heard a ding from inside my bag. I stood up and grabbed it, before heading to the plain white door, just like everything else in the empty apartment. It opened, as it usually did, and I stepped outside into the plain hallway with a wooden floor. I'd vacated everything from inside of it, because I had no need for anything in my apartment. I might spend a day or two in it sometimes, but most of the time I was out, working. Or doing something else.

The camera was heavier today than it usually was, though, of course, I knew why. I had some "special equipment" packed inside, next to it, because no one checked inside a camera. I descended down the stairs of the hotel and stepped outside. The bouncers looked me over, all through my bags, observed the camera, and then nodded, letting me leave. "Suckers," I muttered under my breath, grinning.

I decided to grab a cup of coffee before I left for my destination, and I stepped inside the small, corner shop, a smile on my face. I left my baggage on a table by the door and approached the counter. The man by the counter wore a white shirt and a bright green apron. "Welcome," he said, with little enthusiasm. "What can I get for you?"

I read off my order and took a seat, waiting for the coffee to arrive at the tablet. I clasped my hands together and sat there, staring down at them as if there was something unique about them. There wasn't, of course; no scars, no marks, no anythings. I couldn't break my grasp away from them, though. That is, until someone sat down across from me.

His hat was tilted over his face, which hadn't been shaved in a while. He had a rugged jawline, and wore a simple black suit. "Excuse me, sir, do you have the time?" he asked.

"Half past thirteen," I said.

He took his hat off and sighed. "Is there a certain reason we have to do that?" I looked at his facial expression, one of irritation.

"Booker, I told you I won't reply unless you do it." I smiled at Booker DeWitt, who obviously needed something. He had been following me down the street for the past twenty minutes, of course, thinking that I hadn't noticed him. I always noticed, though. Nothing got by me. "What can I do for you?"

The coffee shop employee set my coffee down on the table, and we waited for thirty seconds after he left, just to ensure he heard nothing. Then Booker continued. "Look, the boss wants me to find out as much as possible about a guy. Thing is, we all know that you know more about anybody than anyone in town. So, I figured you could at least drop me a few leads."

"Depends on who I'm telling you about," I said, trying to act as serious as possible. Things like this always seemed like a joke to me.

"You're telling me about Ivan Bailey. Y'know, lives on the outskirts of town, tall guy, fat face? I need to know about him. Everything."

"Yeah, strike leader for the factory workers. Word is he started the whole thing with the help of a few accomplices. Gunsmith's gonna' have a riot if something doesn't happen to him, right?" I always knew about the things like this. My ear was always to the streets, considering I didn't usually have much better to do.

"But what's his schedule? What's he doin', and how are we gonna' handle it?" Booker looked more and more frustrated as he asked.

"Well, being in charge of such a large operation, and being so vital to its success, he's as reserved as reserved gets. Place is locked up tighter than a bank, and he only steps out to grab supplies. And he usually has armed friends around when he does that, even if it's only clubs and baseball bats. Either way, it'd be dangerous to attack him then. And," I said, putting on emphasis, "less effective."

"And what would be effective?" he asked, as I sipped my coffee.

"Word is there's gonna' be a rally in front of the Governor's mansion in a few days. Three, to be exact, and he's gonna' be heading it. So all you have to do is go there, deal with him however you see fit, and then the strikers stop. And the Pinks are happy. Got it?" I smiled at him.

"Thanks, Foreman," he said, sliding some money across the table. I pushed it back, though.

"Please, free of charge. Always happy to help." I finished my coffee and stood up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've business to attend to." Booker waved me off and I stepped back into the streets to continue my voyage.

* * *

_The Present._

"Now, Will here, he's got a certain skill set which I'm sure you've all noticed." Comstock spoke with sarcasm and amusement in his voice. I struggled furiously against the soldiers holding me down, but none of it worked. "Haven't you noticed? The precision with which he kills his opponents. The brutality. The absolute ignorance of said brutality. What kind of photographer knows his way around a scrap like that?"

"Shut up, Comstock!" I said, spitting out some blood as one of the soldiers clocked me. "You don't know anything about me! Nothing!"

Nothing hurt more than the way Elizabeth stared at me, though. She looked at me like I was hazard material. _Dammit. . . This wasn't supposed to happen. . ._

"But I do, Will. You can't dissuade me from telling them, so you might as well sit back and listen. Now, it all started a few years back, in New York city. You remember, don't you, Booker? Your conversation with him, in the coffee shop."

"Yeah, so what? He gave me some information, like he's s'posed to. So?" At least Booker didn't treat me like trash - for now.

"It's what he did _after _that conversation that was really interesting."

* * *

_Welcome to the Night of Gold, _read the giant sign above me. A reception for all the wealthy folk in town, celebrating the success of various city tycoons. One of their daughters was turning sixteen today, as well, so it was a party for that as well. Everything looked ornate and fancy-like; even the canopy had golden stands and a velvet cover. Security outside was tight; four men watched the front door, and two watched every other possible entrance. They put their hands on my chest as I tried to walk inside.

"Name, occupation, purpose," said the man on the right. He was two inches shorter than me, but probably weighed a hundred pounds more in muscle.

I nodded and obliged. "Richard Tyler. I'm the photographer, and I'm here to do just that; Photograph the show. I'm sure someone informed you."

"We were told about a photographer," said the man on the left, who was taller and bulkier than his acquaintance. "Question is, you him?"

"Didn't I _just_ say so?" I smiled and laughed. "Just kidding. Here, you can search my bags and whatnot." I dropped them at his feet, but kept the camera strung across my back.

They didn't care about the camera and shoveled through the bags, pulling out lens caps, film discs, and everything else I'd had stuffed inside there. "Alright, you're clear to go in." They stepped aside, along with their friends, and I walked on in.

The only thing fancier than the outside of the hotel was the inside; all the floors were marble tiles, there were columns of the same material that ran up to the ceiling, all the furniture was draped in red velvet, and I saw more gold than I'd ever seen in my life on some of the people. My eyes went wide as I saw it, but I was here for a purpose. A woman approached me from across the room and smiled at me. "Well, I wasn't aware someone so handsome would be attending."

"And I wasn't aware that I was supposed to wear more gold than the King of England, so I guess some of us didn't get the memo." She laughed and flashed her golden necklace towards me, assuming I was joking. I wasn't joking.

"You're funny. I like that. My name's Jasmine. You need anything, you just ask, alright?" She winked and began to walk away.

"Actually, I need to know where the person in charge of the party is. I need to ask him some questions about where I should set up." I shrugged my shoulders, drawing attention to the camera.

Her flirtatious smile disappeared. "Oh. You're the camera boy." She didn't seem to want to affiliate herself with me anymore, which was arguably a good thing. "Mister Stevens, right? He'll be on the third floor, biggest room you find. If you go up the stairs, it'll be the fourth door on the right. Elevator, second on the left. Anything else, hon'? I got stuff to take care of."

I shook my head at her and tipped my hat as well as I could, before heading for the stairs.

* * *

"You surely remember, Will, don't you?" He laughed again. "The party of everyone's dreams, the Night of Gold. You were invited, weren't you?"

"Will?" asked Booker, looking shocked. "You got into the Night of Gold?"

"Except he _wasn't _invited, was he? No, he wasn't. He went in to settle something. He had an excuse for it, of course, but it was different. This time, at least."

* * *

I knocked on the large white door with the ornate gold plates near the floor, with the gilded doorknobs. It took a few seconds for someone to shout "In a minute!" and then all noise disappeared. So of course, I knocked again. This time, furiously, and repetitively. I'd dropped all my stuff by the door, so for the most part, I was okay. Except for the "special equipment" I'd packed. That was in my back pocket.

He opened the door quickly with a concerned look. Half of his hair was wet and he was in a tuxedo that lacked a jacket. "What the hell do you want? I got important stuff to d-"

I slammed into the room and grabbed him by the shirt, hurling him across the floor. I slammed the door shut and shoved a poker from the fireplace in it, locking it for all intensive purposes. The room was rather fancy; All the curtains were velvet, the bed would fit at least four, and everything was exquisite; portraits all over the walls, a giant canopy over the bed, golden lamps and platters all around. Too bad I was about to ruin his fancy apartment.

He looked up at me. "What the hell do you think you're doin'?"

"Perhaps you need a better look," I said, before leaning down next to him and showing him my face. His face flashed with realization.

"Will? Will, buddy, what are you doing here?" he asked, trying to look as if we were old friends. But we were long since old friends.

"I think we both know," I said, picking him up off the ground. I punched him in the face. "Feels bad, doesn't it? Not good at all," I said, before doing it again. "It's about time you knew what you put me through." Last time, he and his men were bigger. Stronger. But this time; This time, it was fair. The two of us, in the same room, no weapons. Man to man.

"Come on, that was just business, Will! Just business! I did what I had to do for my family, you'd understand if it was you!" He laughed again and took a few steps back. Blood was curling down his lip, which I'd busted open.

"You bastard, don't justify what you did. I don't care if my business got in the way of your business. You put me through hell and back, broke my mind, broke my soul. And now. . ."

I grabbed a hot poker from inside the fire. "It's time I returned the favor."

* * *

"So Seth Stevens, huh, Mister Foreman? Hotel tycoon of New York city, renowned millionaire. Owned everything, including all the assets you were against." Comstock laughed at me. "You sure do know how to pick 'em."

"You bastard!" I shouted at him, and a man punched me in the face again. "Don't do it! Don't do it, I swear, if you do it! I'll kill you!"

"Then you can prove me right. Prove to me that you've got just as cold a heart as you had back then." He laughed again. "I still can't believe you thought you could hide it forever."

"I left that behind! That's not me anymore!" I flailed, looking for any method of escape. The disembodied voice was determined to torment me further, though.

* * *

Stevens screamed as I jabbed at his flesh with the poke, drawing burns and scratches across his skin. "I- I didn't do this to you, Will!" he shouted. "All we did w-"

"Leave me behind with no food, no water, no weapons, hardly any clothes, and more bruises and broken bones than anyone could ever count?" I struck his side with the poker before throwing it away. "You really think I'm going to just let that go?"

"Y-Yes!" he shouted, screaming in pain.

"You really think you can double cross us - no, me - and get away with it? We've got friends in high places, Stevens, and you just made some enemies." I kicked him. "And you pissed me the hell off."

"A-Alright, you've had your fun," he said, grimacing. "Now what?"

I grabbed the special gear from my back pocket; a knife, rusted and blood stained, that I would never forget. "Remember this?" He stared at it and shook his head furiously. He protested vigorously, but I didn't let him get a word in. "You left this thing in my chest when you tossed me off the horse, pal. We had a target _together, _and you wanted to be able to say I died. You wanted _my _money. _My _glory. _My _life. And this knife here became my best friend when I had to survive on my own. Two years, wasted. And as attached as I've gotten to it. . . I think it's about time I returned it to its sender."

I picked him up and jabbed the knife into his shoulder, satisfied as the blood gushed out and stained his tuxedo. "No! N-No, Will, please!" he shouted. "I have a family!"

"Oh, I know," I said, putting the knife to his neck. "I'll make sure someone takes good care of them."

"Don't move a muscle," I heard someone say from behind me. It was a woman; a rather young one, at that. I turned to face her and held Stevens in front of me. She had a gun trained on my position; an ornate hand-cannon that I hadn't noticed before. Her hair was long, blonde, and freshly cleaned. She wore an ornate evening gown and didn't look in any position to be holding a gun. She must've been in the room and I hadn't seen her. _Dammit. . ._ "I'll shoot! I don't care if I shoot him, too, I'll shoot!"

"Sally, run!" Her father shouted. I pressed the knife into his throat. "He'll kill us both!"

"No he won't. Not if he knows what's good for him." I stared at her and her false confidence. This must be the newly-sixteen year old daughter. Her position was shaky, she was sweating, and the gun wouldn't hold still.

I laughed at her. "Do you even know how to shoot a gun? Bet you can't even tell me how many bullets are in that thing," I said, drawing a nick of blood from her father's neck.

"Six," she said, correctly, "And I'd be glad to give one of them a new home in your head."

I laughed again, rather hysterically. "I could kill your dad from here, and yet, you're still terribly confident. What are you going to do? Shoot me?"

She panicked and pulled the trigger. The bullet ended up in the wall next to me, and I saw her flinch. I didn't even have to move to avoid it. She pulled it again, and this time it was further off target than before. I threw her father to the side and dived forwards, trying to wrestle the gun from her hands. It wasn't that easy, though; she could certainly fight. I ripped her arms forwards and pointed the gun at her head, unintentionally.

Instinctively, I pulled the trigger.

* * *

"And poor little old Sally. Not just the gun, but the girl, too. The girl, remember? Surely you remember. Or did you force yourself to forget?" Comstock spat venomous words. "And of course, there's the end result, right? What happened afterwards?"

I collapsed in tears, unable to fight anymore. I couldn't do anything. I physically and mentally couldn't process anything right now.

"Alright, Comstock, stop it!" I heard Booker shouting. "He doesn't need to process this!"

"But she needs to know. You all need to know."

* * *

The girl collapsed, dead and headless, to the floor. What was left of her was a pile of blood, what used to be her body, and I was completely and entirely blood spattered, along with the rest of the room. It was the goriest thing I'd ever seen, and it was a sixteen year old girl. I'd just slaughtered a sixteen year old girl. She was dead now, not even going to live out any of her life, because of me.

"Sally!" shouted Seth, from the other side of the room, standing up. "I'll kill you, Foreman, I'll ki-"

He collapsed with a bullet between his eyes as well, dead. Completely dead. Violently and terribly dead. I just killed both of them. Just physically killed them. Of course, I was paid to kill one of them, but the other one was an accident. I stared at her corpse for a few minutes, just staring at it. I killed her. Violently, brutally, murderously, killed her. She was dead now. Because I killed her.

I left the hotel almost immediately, leaving behind my clothes, my camera, any trace of me having been there gone, other than the whole two-dead-people-in-a-room. I'd never killed an innocent before - well, I take that back. I'd killed plenty of innocents, but I was paid to kill those innocents. I was never paid to kill teenage girls.

I stumbled back into my apartment, unsure of what to do with myself. There are some things a man just shouldn't do, shouldn't see, shouldn't live through. And there was always the straw that broke the camel's back. So in the middle of my apartment, I put the gun to my head, and I got ready to pull the trigger.

* * *

"Assassin. Murderer. Serial killer. He became all of those things, my dear. Every single one. In that order. He was an assassin - photographer, informant, those were just covers. He worked for people who wanted people dead. And then he killed little old Sally with that pistol, right there, on the ground. Then he broke. He tried to kill himself, but he knew he couldn't do it. He wasn't _that _cowardly. So he tried to get someone else to do it for him. Nothing's more pitiful than a man who wants nothing more than to do inside."

There was an intense ringing in my ears, and I couldn't hear anything but Comstock's voice reverberate through my skull. He was teasing me; tormenting me with my past.

"And why is he here, again? I know he told you something, Elizabeth, but that something is wrong. He's not here to save you. He's here to get something done that no one else could do. Why do you always risk your life for everyone, Will? Why did you take all the risks, take all the fire? You and I both know someone of your intellect wouldn't do that without a reason."

* * *

It was another day in a plain white apartment that wasn't quite as plain or white anymore. It had furniture and pictures and things on it, of people I'd pissed off or lost.

That is, until someone knocked on the door. It was a woman with red hair, who wore a green dress, and smiled at me. "Hello, Mister Foreman."

"Do I know you?" I asked, trying to look aggravated.

"No, you don't. But I know you. And I'm sure you'll be happy to hear that I have a proposition for you." She set a briefcase down on the floor and smiled at me. "I have a mission for you."

"I don't do missions anymore," I said. I went to close the door on her, but she stopped it with her hand.

"I think you'll like the outcome of this one," she said, smiling.

* * *

"Oh . . . Oh my God," I heard Elizabeth say. "He's just here . . . to die," she said. I could hear light sobs as she spoke, as if this all hurt her. "He's here because he knows that someone here can do what he couldn't. . . Did you ever really care about me?. . ."

"Of course I did! But. . . Sometimes you just break." I said, furiously. "I couldn't handle it! I still can't! All the things I did were miserable, Elizabeth, absolutely miserable! I walked away from them, a long time ago! I left it all behind, killed that Will, and this Will was reborn! He's not here anymore. . . It was never supposed to happen like this. You were never supposed to develop feelings for me. . . And I was never supposed to reciprocate. . . And I was supposed to die the first time I got Lucy to Booker and went after the Handy-Man! I was supposed to die then, but as usual, it didn't work!" I shouted, sobbing. "So I gave up on that plan. I'm doing something better, I promise! I promise I've changed!"

"It's easy to say that, Will, but is it true?" said Comstock. "Is it true?" he asked again. "I've told you all you need to know, Elizabeth. Now are you ready to come back to me?"

I felt a sudden surge of strength and broke free from the hold of my captors. I didn't want to kill any of them, though; they were all going to leave this alive. Comstock needed to see this. Elizabeth needed to see this. "Look, all of you, I don't want to hurt anyone this time."

"So what changed? Are you trying to lie again, Will? Be who you truly are. Be the killer we know you are." He was taunting me, of course. He knew I could do it. He knew I would do it.

But I wasn't going to.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Another late night post, because why not? It gives you people more time to do some reading. Enjoy. **

* * *

Chapter 29: The Change

Elizabeth's Perspective.

Will was standing in front of the crowd of soldiers, no weapons raised. He stood there, as relaxed as he could muster, and pleaded, "Don't make me do this. Please. For my sake. For your sake."

They didn't listen, of course. They kept walking towards him, weapons at the ready, waiting for Comstock to give the word to kill him. I might have been able to help, but I had to sit and process what I was feeling for a moment.

I was relieved to know about it. I was scared that he'd done all of those things. I felt bad for him, because of all of his turmoil. But I never held any regret or ill will towards him. As the story was told, as I realized what he was doing here. My thoughts just needed some time to settle, and then I'd ask Will everything I wanted to know. I trust him more than Comstock, but I knew for a fact that all of it was true. The way Will reacted assured me it was true.

So there he stood, staring at his ultimate demise. Booker fought to escape, but he didn't manage it. None of this was going as we'd planned, as any of us had planned. It all went downhill with the whole dimension thing. So Comstock spoke to us. "Is your faith not wavered, my sweet Elizabeth? He's a liar, a killer, everything you resent. Wouldn't you rather come with me? And don't forget Booker. He hasn't told you everything yet, either, though I've revealed enough for one day. If you come back, you can know, my sweet. I promise."

He began to speak again, but I couldn't hear it over a large siren. "Kill the Founders!" shouted a man, and from below us lifted several red blimps against a large red zeppelin. Vox Populi started pouring downwards from skylines. "Kill them all!" They crashed down next to Will, and for a few moments, ignored his existence, just firing at the Founders. Booker broke free, head-butted a man next to him, and pulled off his shotgun. He looked at me and Lucy, gestured for us to follow him, and we started to escape in the confusion.

I wasn't sure if Lucy's parents and Will were following us, but I sprinted after them as quickly as I could. The firefight evolved into a full-fledged battleground as we ran across the bridge and into another part of the town. Booker kept sprinting until he'd arrived at an arch that led into the gondola station we could use to pass over into the Market district. I heard Lucy's parents approach from behind, and I turned to face them. As I thought, Will was there, Sally tucked into his pocket, as usual. He sighed, now looking sorrowful.

Booker took a few steps forward and stood in front of Lucy's mother. "You betrayed us. Your _daughter. _You're lucky she doesn't want anything done to you, or you'd be in a world of hurt right now. I don't want to see your face again. Go wherever you want, but don't go with us."

"I did it for he-"

"Shut up," he said. "None of us want to hear it. Now scram. Get on the gondola before I change my mind."

Her eyes grew watered and she ran into the station, Lucy's father running in after her. That just left the four of us, as usual, though the air was silent.

Lucy decided to break it. "So what the hell was that all about, Will?" she asked, furiously. "Didn't you think we would've liked to know if you were, I don't know, a criminal?"

"So you could cast me out and leave me to rot or something equally miserable? Being a criminal doesn't bode too well for most people, especially when you don't have a good reason for it," he replied, calmer than he'd been a few moments ago.

Booker shrugged. "It ain't much more than anything I've done, though I've never shot a sixteen year old girl. I was a killer, killed because I was getting paid. Doesn't matter to me, pal," he said, clapping him on the shoulder. They exchanged wry smiles, and Booker cleared his throat, indicating it was my turn to say something.

I didn't know what to say, though. "It's true. . . Isn't it?" He nodded casually, and I bit my lower lip. "So . . . why?"

He shrugged again, regaining his aura of nonchalance. "I told you, that wasn't me. That was some other guy who I unfortunately shared a vessel with for a little while. He's dead now, though. I'm still the same person you met two days ago." He took a moment to scratch the back of his neck, and I cracked just a little.

"So you expect me to think that you can just say something like that and it completely negates absolutely anything you've done? That doesn't make you any better of a person, Will."

"Did I say it did?" He shrugged again. "You can think of me how you will. It won't hurt my feelings. I don't think of any of you any differently, and I would hope that you don't think of me any differently, but I still have a mission to do. Still have a job to get done. And then, if you still hate me, we can head our separate ways."

I bit my lip again. "I never said I hate you. . . I don't hate you at all. It just . . . The only reason I'm mad at you is because you didn't feel it important enough to tell us. Me, specifically. We were close, Will, and it hurts me that you didn't feel like telling me something so important about you."

"I thought you'd hate me if I _did _tell you."

"But I don't hate you!" I said. "I'm just . . . furious, that's all! I wouldn't have thought of you any differently if I'd found out any way other than this, but the fact that I had to hear it from Comstock was just . . ." I groaned. "Indescribable."

"Well I'm sorry you had to find out that way. Can you really blame me, though? It's not something I'm proud of. Hell, I did my best to forget it existed. For the most part, I did. It's not something I _like _to talk about, or even know about."

"It just aggravates me! You are the most insufferable person I've ever had the displeasure of affiliating myself with! You don't even care that I'm upset about it. . ." I pouted my lips.

"Who said I didn't care? That's all I have time for, Elizabeth, caring for you. I've told you several times that that's what I'm here for, haven't I?"

"Well according to Comstock, that wasn't your reason for coming here."

"But it was my reason for _staying_ here. I could have ended things a while ago. But I didn't, because I cared. But all you have to do is say what's on your mind, and I'll do whatever you say. So? What is it?"

I took a few moments to collect my thoughts, as he was waiting for an answer. I tried to think about absolutely everything I knew about this man, and I came to several conclusions. One, I was angry at him for lying to me. Two, I pitied him for having to deal with all of this. And three, I was confused because I didn't know if he was a cold man or a kind one.

But mostly, I came to the conclusion that I was madly and hopelessly in love with this person. I don't know if that was me telling myself that so I didn't have to process him doing all that, or if it was just entirely hopeless, but I genuinely cared about him. He was nice to me. He made me feel good. His touch sent shocks down my spine. I don't know why, but I still thought of him just the same way.

"I. . . I-I. . ." I stammered out, trying to phrase myself. I was blushing furiously. If it was that easy to come to terms with in my head, why couldn't I say it out loud?

He tried to hide a smirk of amusement, and failed rather miserably. "You what?" he asked._  
_

"I'm in love with you, you idiot," I muttered, making sure he could hear it. I felt my heart explode in my chest as I said it. "I don't care what you did. You still matter to me."

"Thank goodness," he said. "I was worried. You sure? I don't want you to do this because you feel obligated."

"If I was you, I wouldn't be complaining," I said with a nervous smirk. "Besides, you get _this _chance. If you keep _any _secrets from me, especially ones of such a magnitude, I won't be very happy."

He wrapped his hand around mine and smiled. "Yes, ma'am," he said, laughing slightly. "Now I do believe we have a gondola to catch."

As we walked through the docks, I couldn't help but notice how miserable everything was. Piles of murdered citizens, dead soldiers, destroyed motorized patriots with red bags pulled over their heads. I had to ignore it, of course, because that would distract me from the happiness of my situation. I was going to Paris. I had a lover. I had wonderful friends. It was worth being happy about. But still, I couldn't shake something. . .

"Lucy? How do you feel?" I asked her. She looked confused, so I clarified: "Your parents."

"Oh. Them. Well, I'm not surprised." She bit her lip and sighed afterwards. "I'm ashamed, and furious, but not surprised. They did it to help me, you know. If I hadn't been here it wouldn't have happened like that. Will wouldn't have had to sit through that and you wouldn't have been ambushed and Booker wouldn't have potentially gotten killed. That was all my fault. Sorry," she said, sheepishly.

Booker shook his head, clicking his tongue with each shake. "Don't say it like that. Besides, isn't today your birthday? Twentieth, if I recall. Welcome to the world of the adults."

She blinked, as if she'd completely forgotten. "Right. . . I _am _an adult now! I don't have to worry about my parents anymore, because I don't need them. We're going to go to Paris, and I'm going to be the maid of honor at Elizabeth's wedding, and -"

"Wait, what was that last part?" I said, blinking.

"You know. You and the Suited Spelunker over there." She pointed at us. "But I'm all grown up now, aren't I?"

Booker smiled. "That's the spirit." The bell dinged and the doors in front of us swung open. "But keep your mind on the task at hand. We still have to get out of here before we can do all of that. Oh, and I expect to be the best man, Suity."

"When did I get all these nicknames?" he asked.

"They're just teasing us, Will. Probably _jealous, _they are, aren't they?" I pulled him forwards and kissed him, making emphasis on the motion. "Wish they had something like us, don't they?"

Booker laughed. "Stop playing around, everyone, or you might make me smile." He pulled the lever on the gondola and set it into motion, taking us towards Comstock house.

"Booker, we should enjoy the moments like these when we have them," said Will. "It's not like we're not allowed to have any fun every now and then. We need our happiness to keep morale high. I'm still surprised we're all in such a good mood considering the whole 'Will's an Ex-murderer' thing."

"Oh, don't worry, none of us are happy about it," said Lucy. "Unfortunately, Elizabeth forgave you, so the rest of us have to forgive you too. I don't like that you were keeping secrets, or that I was saved by a murderer, though."

He flinched visibly and clenched his teeth as she said murderer. "I'd like it if you _didn't _refer to me as a murderer from now on, Lucy."

Her face flashed with sudden realization as she processed what she just said. "Oh. . . I-I'm sorry." She waved her hands in front of her as if to nullify everything she'd just said.

He reciprocated the motion and I laughed nervously. "Come on, you two, calm down. We've got business to handle," I said, staring up at Comstock house. I felt a twang of nervousness, staring at its large silhouette wrapped in the clouds. For a moment, I completely forgot about the whole Vox Populi rebellion thing, and when I was reminded of it, I felt my heart crumple up a little for having a part in it.

The gondola docked at its stop and we were left outside the halls that led into the market districts. Supposedly, this area was in some form of construction; a giant Comstock statue being built or something, as if there weren't enough of those. We stepped inside, and the very first thing we saw was a giant pile of bodies, completely coated in blood. There was a sign popping out of it, with various famous Columbian names on them. Beneath each name was the scalp of the corresponding person; they had Fink, and various others on there. The only name that didn't have a scalp was Comstock's, and it was just about getting ready.

"Fitzroy's death didn't even phase them, huh?" said Booker. "They're just like they were, ain't they?"

"Did you expect them to? The higher-ups probably think of Fitzroy as a figurehead. Someone for people to muster behind, nothing more. Now that she's out of the way, they get more power, anyways. Can't imagine they're upset," said Will, sighing slightly. "So I imagine we still have stuff to deal with."

In the next, giant room, there were scaffolds set up everywhere, spanning all the way to the ceiling. On the far side of the room, there was a ruined Comstock statue; possibly the one that was being constructed; that the Vox Populi had laid waste to. In the middle of the room, one of them was screaming at some hostages. "Hah! Ain't nothin' you can do! Your homes are ours! Your lives are ours! Your _wives _are ours! Hah!" He pointed a gun down at his head. "And now it's time for you to join all the others, pal," he said.

Will grabbed him with a tendril of water and hurled him into one of the scaffolds, breaking away from me to fight. He grabbed Sally and started firing at them, while Booker rushed in and killed his two friends. The hostages on the floor stood up, looking at us as if we were demons. "I-It's the False Prophet! And his cohorts!"

Booker stepped forward and balled up the man's shirt in his fist. "Yeah, and that False Prophet just saved your life. Now get a move on if you want to see your families again." He threw him down and watched as they all scrambled off.

"Well that was rather eloquently put, Booker," said Lucy, laughing slightly. "Very eloquently put."

Booker shrugged. "It didn't have to be eloquently put. It just had to be put. People need to know when to appreciate things worth appreciating."

I shrugged. "Let's just . . . be happy that we saved them, and get a move on." I wanted to get out of this place more than ever before now. I _needed _to get to Paris. For my own sake.

"So Elizabeth, what are you going to do when we find Comstock?" asked Lucy.

"Beat him over the head with a club," I said. "Until his face is bruised and his skull is cracked. If that's what it takes, of course. I just want to get out of here."

Will wrapped his arm around my shoulder and I snuggled up against him, finding comfort in his embrace. "Don't worry. We're getting there."

We walked past the giant Comstock statue and into the next room - or what would've been the next room, if it was a room. It was more like a giant pavilion that consisted of three interlocked floating buildings, forming a kind of Parthenon shape. In the air in front of us, two ships were having a shootout; one draped in the red colors of the Vox Populi, the other the dull blue of the Founders. It wasn't getting anywhere; no side was winning. That is, until both of them called for more reinforcements. This time, three more Vox ships came in, completely swamping the Founders with bullets. And then four Founder ships came in. The gunshots were endless.

Will shrugged his rifle off his shoulder and pulled me down into cover, staring into the scope and shooting at the men on either ship. None of them seemed to notice that the fire was coming from a third party, so for the most part, he was safe from any return fire. Anyone who did catch on promptly fell with a bullet between their eyes.

I thought for a few moments about the man sitting next to me. He really had changed, it seemed - he was trying to help us out of the good of his heart. We still knew he wasn't getting paid. And I knew he loved me. No one made me feel better; though, I didn't have much experience with the world. All I knew was that there wasn't anyone I cared about more. Even as he sat here, shooting at men, I knew that he was doing it for me. I didn't like the idea, and I wasn't sure if it was right, but it felt that way, so who was I to protest?

"Elizabeth," said Booker, "There's a tear right between those boats. Mosquito turret. Go 'head and call it in for me, will you?"

I nodded and obliged his request, watching as the turret suspended from three hot-air balloons started firing at people. They were completely shocked by its arrival and more than a few of them fell in the initial arrival. Mostly the Founders, though; it was more fond of shooting them than the Vox. Soon, all hope was lost for the Founders.

That is, until the Handy-Man showed up.

It jumped from on top of the Parthenon-like building and landed on one of the boats, completely capsizing it. It collapsed underneath him, and then next, it jumped straight . . .

at us.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30: The House

Booker's Perspective.

Well, I guess it was back to usual for me: shooting stuff. The handy-man leaped from the airship and landed behind us by a few feet, sending a shock wave throughout the building. Then it decided it wanted to throw its fist towards my face, which I promptly ducked under. I shouted, over the fist whistling above my head, "What's the plan?"

Will continued firing at the men on the ships. "Think you can handle the Handy-Man if I keep an eye on the ships?"

Its fist slammed into me, shattering the magnetic barrier around me and pinning me to the wall behind me. "I'll see what I can do!" I said, despite my lungs screaming for mercy. The shotgun wasn't gaining me much, and no one was really helping, so I revved up the sky-hook and slammed it into its fist as steadily as I could manage. A large rip appeared in the steel after a few moments, and it let out a low pitched moan. I didn't know if it could feel the pain, but it was obviously anger, because it dropped me and swung the other hand towards me. I dived out of the way just in time to get behind it, and I jumped up on its back, the sky-hook still spinning. I plunged it into its back, tearing apart the metal like it was butter.

Liquid was staring to pour out of the thing, and I could feel its life force draining from it; it struggled less and less. As a last-ditch effort, I plunged the sky-hook into its heart-area, and heard the mechanical whirring noise as it ripped its insides to pieces. It muttered "False . . . Shepard. . ." before it fell, completely and entirely dead. And then I had time to help out the others. "This job just gets easier and easier," I muttered, grinning to myself.

I couldn't really eliminate anyone on the airships with a shotgun, though, so I rode the skylines down to the front of the Parthenon-like structure, which I now noticed was a Columbian bank or something, and started handling the Vox Populi who hadn't gotten killed by the Handy-Man. It was relatively easy, with the help of vigors; I hid behind the pillars and set up Devil's Kiss traps, which they promptly walked in to, trying to reach me. It was an easy enough job.

The Founder ships fell as well, now that their staff was completely obliterated, and the rest of the group jumped down to join me. Will sighed, shrugging his left shoulder slightly. "I still can't get over that dumb bullet wound."

"I'm surprised you haven't gotten used to the pain yet. I have," I said, counting over the various wounds I gained on the trip.

"There's a reason for that, though; I'm less likely to get hit than you are," he said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

"And what's that supposed to mean, Foreman?" I said, trying to sound intimidating.

"It means I'm better than you," he said, smirking. "Why? Got a problem with it?"

"We'll settle this once we get back on the ground," I said. "Duel, at forty paces." That part was a joke, of course.

"Are you sure you want it to be like that? I think I'm more accurate than you, too."

Now the girls were starting to act up. "You two! Calm down," said Elizabeth. "We can't have you fighting if we're to get off of this island, right?" She looked me in the eye furiously. "You both apologize to each other."

I blinked. He did as well. Then, we both had the same thought, and grinned an evil grin. "I'm sorry, Booker. . ." he said, "sorry that you can't make a shot."

"Oh yeah? And I'm sorry you can't take a hit," I said, trying to continue the act.

"Both of you, stop it!" shouted Lucy, leaning forwards with her fists under her chin. "You need to make up! What's gotten into you!"

"Yellow-belly cowardice is what's gotten into DeWitt over here, I know that, for sure," he said, as we walked down the street, laughing.

"If I'm cowardly, chickens must revere you as a God," I replied, kicking a rock before jumping onto the skyline. "I'm surprised they're taking this seriously."

He cracked up. "We might as well tell them someone wrote _gullible _in the sky or something. They might just look."

I laughed as well and we hopped off, in front of the door to the next section of the Market district, which appeared to be a complex of businesses that were special enough to get special parts of the building. Nice gig, I guess. I pushed the door open and looked down at my feet, to see a bright, golden bottle of something-or-other. It was a vigor, I assumed. "I get this one," I said, before Will could even protest.

"Hey, I'm good for now," he said, as I reached down to grab the bottle. On top of it, there appeared to be some kind of gladiator, which corresponded with the symbol on the front of the bottle. _Return to Sender, _it said, in large, italicized font. I ripped off the gladiator's head, so to speak, and downed the contents, tasting the bitter liquid that I was in no way fond of. Then, the whole Ah-My-Flesh-Is-Melting-Help-Me thing kicked in, and I stared down at my hands, screaming at the top of my lungs. They were turning into some kind of metallic structure, as my flesh disappeared and my bones were left, all a shiny grey. And then it was done.

"So what's it do?" I asked, trying to activate it. All I managed to do was create some little sphere in my hand.

"I. . . I dunno'. What _does _it do?" said Elizabeth from behind me, as they'd apparently caught up to us.

"Looks like I _am _the lucky one, DeWitt," said Will, laughing slightly.

I muttered some curse words under my breath and sighed. "Well, that was a waste," I said.

"What was it called, Booker?" asked Lucy. "I've lived here all my life, seen the billboards."

"Return to Sender or something. Got any idea what it does?"

"Oooh, I know. It operates on the same mechanics that your shield does, except it's much more magnety. It sucks in your enemies bullets, and then, once you've got enough, you can hurl the bullets back to them. You know, return to sender?"

"That probably makes a lot of sense, but we're stupid," I said, "So I don't imagine we'd get it."

"_You're _stupid. I knew that the whole time," said Will. "Just couldn't let you know."

"Shut up," we all said, simultaneously. Though I said it jokingly, Elizabeth said it lovingly, and Lucy said it with irritation. She still hadn't gotten over that whole Will-the-murderer-saved-me thing. I don't know how I'd feel in the same situation, but I certainly knew how she felt.

We kept walking through the indoor plaza, passing book stores, coffee shops, cafes, all sorts of things. The room was ornately decorated, as just about _everything _in the upper section of Columbia was. The tile floors alternated from blue to white marble, columns spanned each side of the room, and the gates to all of the shops - which were closed, obviously - were made out of a golden metal, which I assumed was brass. Overall, everything looked pretty neat.

We ascended a flight of stairs which led into a long hallway. On the far side, there were rollers that made sure once you got in that you weren't getting out unless they moved them, so it was generally a one-way street. On our left, there was a book store, and on our right, a ruined ice cream shop. I pointed towards the book store, "I'm gonna' go scope out in there, if it's all the same to you. Watch our backs, will you, Will?"

"Wait, what? Why don't I get to come?" he asked.

"Because I said so," I muttered. "Anyone who feels like coming with can come with."

Everyone but Will came with. The inside of the book store was completely and entirely ruined. Books were stacked everywhere, to the extent of it being disorganized. This didn't look like a bookstore; it looked more like a hoard. There was a portrait of the woman who'd irritated us so much throughout the trip in the back of the room, and then Elizabeth gasped. "I think I know who they are, now."

"Those two nut jobs? I gotta' hear this," I muttered.

"Robert and Rosalind Lutece. They're the ones who created the technology on which this city flies," she said. "They disappeared years ago, though. Died in some kind of accident or something. How are they still here?. . ."

"I don't know if they _are _still here," said Lucy. "Not many people I know can jump between dimensions. You know, other than us."

"So these people are interested in us, for whatever reason. What are we doing for them?" I asked.

"I don't know," she replied. "Maybe they're just helping us." She shrugged it off and descended the stairs at the back of the shop. I followed after her.

The bottom floor was _entirely _ruined. The books stacked about as high as the ceiling in some places, and that was impressive, considering the room was almost twenty feet tall. Nothing interesting down here, though, just the destroyed books. Elizabeth looked completely flabbergasted, though. _Heh. Flabbergasted. _

"There are more books in here than I've ever had in my tower!" She started to grab a few, but I grabbed her hand.

"Hey, calm down. We can't take any home with us. There'll be _plenty _of books in other places, I promise."

She pouted her lips at me and began to speak. "You know, Booker, you might appreciate reading more if you did it once in a whi-"

Her hands flew up to cover her mouth as we heard shouting above us. "Hey! Check for the False Shepard down in the book store! I know he came this way," called a man, who sounded distinctly Vox Populi; he wasn't refined or religious enough to be a Founder. I heard loads of footsteps on the floor above us, approaching the stairways as they walked across the floor.

"Get down," I hissed, throwing down a devil's kiss in front of the stairwell. I crouched behind one of the bookcases and loaded my shotgun, getting ready to kill Will once I got back upstairs.

I heard the telltale explosion, accompanied by a chorus of screaming that signified it was time for me to attack. I jumped out from behind cover to see the walls draped in ash and flame, along with people disintegrating in front of me. I took a few moments to wait for the hazard zone to become safer, before rushing up the stairs with my weapon raised. There were about five men up top, all prepared and behind the counter for cover. I decided it was time to try out my new toy and helped up the magnetic sphere I could create with my hand. They fired furiously at me, and their bullets were in fact sucked into the little sphere. _Glad that worked._

And then, as one of them stood up, I hurled the bullets back towards him, leaving him riddled with little itty-bitty holes. And he was completely and entirely dead. As he collapsed to the floor, his friends flinched and jumped out from behind cover, which made this a little bit easier. I shot down two more in the next five seconds, and the other two were killed by some unknown shooter, who I immediately figured was either a Founder or Will.

It was the latter. He ran into the shop, breathing somewhat heavily. "Hey, came as soon as I heard the gunshots," he said, panting.

"You wouldn't have had to come if you had just stayed outside, like I asked you," I said, my arms crossed.

He smiled slightly, still panting out his words. "Oh, we're all fine, aren't we? C'mon, we need to get going."

"Thing is, we might _not _have been all fine. Did you ever think that I told you to stay out there for a reason?"

He turned around slowly, his arms raised defensively. "Hey, sorry, I had to get out of there before that group of Vox slaughtered me."

"If I could handle them, you could handle them, considering you're so much better than me, according to you," I said, starting to get cross. "You need to take what I tell you to do a little more seriously. You're not the only one who can give orders around here."

"Jeez, what got into you?" he asked nonchalantly.

I sighed. "It just bothers me that you don't care enough to watch out for the rest of us. You're too busy doing whatever it is you decide to do that when we need something you won't do it."

"Need I mention the countless times that I've saved this group?"

"And need I mention the countless times you've nearly doomed it?" I replied. This sure was getting heated.

"I can't think of a single one, Booker," he said, "And I'm not just saying that for my own good."

It was true, he hadn't really done anything to throw us off course or anything, for the most part. In fact, he was probably the cleanest out of all of us when it came to getting the job done. The rest of us were quick to take detours, or got us into some other kind of trouble. Me and the whole False Shepard thing, Lucy and her childishness, Elizabeth being Comstock's daughter. Other than the half-an-hour speech we got about Will, he hadn't delayed us at all. "Look, I ain't got time for this. I got stuff to settle, up here, and down on the ground."

"Like what? What do you have to settle that I haven't already gotten fixed for you?" he replied, as we walked through the rolling gates. Elizabeth and Lucy were surprisingly silent.

"Oh, don't act like you ain't got any problems. Instead of caring about mine, you should go get yours fixed, pal," he said.

"You act like you don't appreciate all the things I've done for you," replied Will. "The only reason you didn't go into debt six years ago was because _I _did part of your work for you."

"Yeah, when you weren't out slaughtering children," I said, not taking any time to consider what I just said. And I probably shouldn't have said it. Will stopped in his tracks and I could feel the aura in the air shift of one to bickering to one of absolute rage.

"I told you, I'd appreciate it if you made it a bit easier for me to forget about things like that," he said, his fists clenched. His knuckles were white.

"Yeah, and why should I? It's only the truth. Can't wipe away the past, pal," I said, still not managing to process my words.

"Oh, this is rich_. Booker DeWitt _is giving me a lecture about the past. Look, your past ain't all sunshine and roses either. You're in no shoes to judge, buddy. At least I managed to fix myself up to a degree and forget about it instead of wallowing in beer for all my life. I don't give a damn what I did in the past, the important part is that I moved on and I'm doing something important right now. But this, this is all for you, everything we've done up to this point. I didn't _have _to help you, you know. I could have just killed you. I could have gotten to Elizabeth before you and made this whole thing never have happened and left you with your damn debt problems. Hell, you're probably in more debt to me than you'd ever be to anyone down there on the surface, and you're going to give _me _a lecture about straightening myself out? Maybe I slaughtered somebody and _maybe _I messed the hell up, but you need to fix yourself before you go ahead and tell someone else about all their problems, pal."

That had escalated rather quickly. He'd balled my shirt up in his fist and lifted me partially off the ground, even if we were the same height. I hadn't moved at all, because he was probably right, and I didn't want to dig a deeper hole for this, let alone let it come to blows. And that was partially because I wasn't sure if I could win this fight; nothing was quite as unstoppable as a trained killer with a reason to fight.

Elizabeth came between us and forced Will to drop me, pushing us away from each other. "You two need to calm down!" she shouted, like she probably should have five minutes ago. "We were all _fine, _and you two went and started a fight!" She pushed Will towards Lucy and grabbed me by the arm, grabbing me forwards. "I need to have a word with you," she said.

"I don't need a lecture, Elizabeth," I muttered. I might be doing something wrong, but I was a little too prideful to admit it just yet.

"No, I don't want either of you getting shot. Look, I'm mad at him too, and I was going to voice it until you did. But the fact of the matter is, for the moment, he's a bomb on a fuse, what with all the stuff going on in his head, and we can't have you shortening that fuse. He'll be fine in a while and I'm sure you two will get along perfectly in a little while, but just stay away for a bit, okay?"

I was somewhat shocked by her reasoning. I thought she was going to say something pathetic and defensive, but she actually had a valid reason. And I didn't quite know she thought of him like that. "Alright," I muttered, "I get it. I won't instigate any more."

She nodded her head happily and we waited for a few moments until Will and Lucy arrived. Will had his hat tipped down over his eyes and marched past us, not even waiting to see if we were coming. _I just messed up, didn't I? _

Elizabeth and Lucy ran on to catch up with him, expecting me to follow. I figured I'd give Will a wide girth for now, especially considering Comstock house was literally just at the top of this hill, and I didn't really have to work too hard to get there. I sighed and walked at a leisurely pace, observing the dark clouds in the sky.

I heard a voice from behind me speaking, and I spun to see who it was. "Well, I do think he's coming along quite nicely, don't you think?" Robert and Rosalind stood behind us, one with a baseball bat and the other with a glove.

"What do you mean? Who's coming around rather nicely?" I asked them.

"Oh, it would appear you might've let that one slip, sister," said Robert, ignoring me entirely.

"I know. But it's so entertaining to watch this man in particular squabble with us as if we were there."

"But aren't we there?"

"And there," she said, pointing to a random location for no reason. "And everywhere else, in fact."

"So who's coming along rather nicely?" I asked, again.

"Him," said Robert, rather plainly. "He's growing well. Reaching the necessary conditions."

I blinked. "You mean Will?"

When I opened my eyes, of course, they were missing, though.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31: The Graveyard

Lucy's Perspective.

The air around us was incredibly tense as we walked across the plaza in front of Comstock House. Will and Booker hadn't helped the morale of our team with their outburst, and I could tell everything was awkward. Will paced a good ways ahead of everyone else, and didn't even bother to check to see if we were following him. He was pretty pissed off, and arguably, he had a good reason to be. Even if I did think Booker might've had a point, he still shouldn't have brought up the whole murderer thing.

So we walked past the giant statue of Lady Comstock, bent on her knees in prayer, and approached the gate to Comstock house. No one spoke. No one even breathed louder than usual. Incredibly awkward.

A disembodied voice appeared out of no where: "Lady Comstock!" it said, for whatever reason. "I haven't seen you in ages!" it continued. "How lovely for you to come visit, especially considering your painful death nineteen years ago."

Elizabeth hissed in our ears, "I think it thinks that I'm Lady Comstock."

Booker shrugged. "You are her spitting image, after all."

She did bear a strange resemblance to Lady Comstock, though I've never seen Lady Comstock in real life and I can't say for sure that they look too much alike. Then again, recognition technology isn't absolutely astounding, so it probably couldn't recognize a few minor differences.

"Just put in your fingerprints and you'll be able to carry on, my fair lady," it said, its voice cheerful.

She approached the gate and placed her hand in a scanner of some sort, which flashed green for a few times and then a bright red. "That doesn't sound good."

"Your fingerprints don't appear to be your own today, Lady Comstock." The gate seemed sarcastically skeptical now. "Are you feeling well?" It shut off and left us in silence.

"So we need my mother's fingerprints if we're going to get into this place," said Elizabeth, dejectedly. "So. . . Where is she buried?"

I was genuinely surprised for a moment. "What are you going to do? Cut her hand off or something?"

Elizabeth nodded gravely, surprising me again. "We need to get in there, immediately. Where's she buried?" she asked again.

"I don't know," I replied. "I think she was buried in some Memorial Graveyard, which shouldn't be too far from Comstock house, actually."

Booker pointed down the road behind us, which had a giant sign that said "Come pay your respects to Lady Comstock in Memorial Graveyard", and a giant arrow leading towards the graveyard. _Even her death turned into propaganda. _"Something tells me she's gonna' be in there," he said. Will marched off towards the graveyard in silence, like he'd been doing as of late, not waiting for us to reach a conclusion on whether or not to go. Elizabeth groaned and paced after him, her arms crossed, and I followed after them.

The skies were slightly grey, the clouds above us condensing into a shroud above us. What was left of the sky was a kind of gold, which would have been really pretty if it wasn't for the situation we were in. The streets were ruined, the sidewalks were bloody, and corpses were piled up on either side of us. It was incredibly creepy, and it didn't help that we were now travelling to a graveyard to go cut the hand off of a dead person. The dead have always been really really creepy to me, don't know why. And I don't mean dead people in general, I mean decomposing dead people that could pop out of the ground and try to eat me. That kind of dead people.

The gate to the graveyard loomed over us ominously, accompanied by the dark sky above us. Lightning flashed above our heads, and I yelped slightly, as the gates slowly swung open with a creak, and we stepped inside. I was shaking in my boots, practically, and I cowered behind the rest of our group nervously. "W-We don't have to stay here for long, do we, Elizabeth?"

"Just until we have my mother's hand. After that, it's off to Comstock house." She marched down the middle of the graveyard, stone faced, approaching Will, who was already next to Lady Comstock's grave. I couldn't keep a straight face, though, at the sight of all these dead people. Most of them didn't have graves yet; dead soldiers and Vox Populi, who had died in some kind of conflict here. _They're just dead people. Nothing to be afraid of. _The statue of the little girl on the far side of the room was what really scared me, though. Her grave, and the statue on top of it, mixed with the ominous atmosphere; not a good combination.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Elizabeth?" asked Booker. "It's your mother's grave."

"I know. She's preserved in an air-tight chamber, and I need her fingerprints to get into Comstock house."

"She's your _mother_," he repeated.

"A mother who abandons their child draws no sympathy in my book," she said, pushing open the gate. "Now are you going to come in, or should I enter without you?"

Before I knew it, she was on the other side of the graveyard and in the underground section, where Lady Comstock was framed in glass with her hands across her chest. A giant portrait of her was hung on the far wall, and I again wondered if they spared any expense on this kind of stuff. They could feed all of Shantytown twice if they didn't spend all their money on decorations and whatnot. "How are you, mother?" asked Elizabeth. "All locked up in there. Seems we've some common ground, huh?" She was talking to herself. I was kind of scared.

Elizabeth leaned down next to her mother's place of rest, and gestured towards Will. "Help me get this thing open," she said, tugging on various sides of the crate. Booker was walking over to help her when a giant gate slammed down over the entrance, leaving Booker and I trapped outside with Will and Elizabeth locked inside. Will raised his head for the first time in a while to examine the situation, and paced forwards to stand in front of Elizabeth, holding Sally in a readied position.

The lights flickered out, and Comstock's voice appeared on the PA system. "You see, child? You follow the False Shepard, and he will lead you astray!" A bright light flashed and several tendrils of light connected to Elizabeth, who cringed in pain.

"Elizabeth!" shouted Will, rushing to her side. He tried to touch her, but was flung back into the wall, where he slouched slightly. "Elizabeth!"

Comstock spoke with sympathy in his voice. "I do this with love, my sweet lamb! What lion does not cringe to see their cub in pain?"

"Make it stop!" she shouted, clawing at her head. I tugged on the gate, to no avail, trying to get inside to help her. Will fought to make contact with her, each time damaging himself even more. "Will!" she shouted, sobbing, both at his pain and her own.

"I see that you won't listen to me, even now," said Comstock, now with anger in his tone. "So be it. . . But maybe, you'll have enough reason to listen. . . To your mother!" he shouted.

A large explosion sounded around the room, and all of the tendrils that had been connected to Elizabeth flew into Lady Comstock's body. Her coffin exploded, and I witnessed with wide eyes as she flew out and floated down towards Elizabeth. Their faces were only a few inches apart, before the First Lady flew straight through Elizabeth - and me. I practically fainted, falling to the side with a yelp of fear.

I saw Will run towards Elizabeth, wrapping his arms around her. "Are you okay?" he asked, holding her by the shoulders and looking her over for wounds.

She pushed him aside. "Where did she go?" Will tried to calm her, but to no avail. "Where did she go, Will? I need that hand!" She threw his arms aside forcefully and turned around, her face cold.

"I-I don't know," he replied, shocked by her display of aggressiveness. I would've been surprised, too, if I could stand up right now. _Dead people. . . Coming back to life. . ._ I cringed at the thought, and imagined myself getting torn to bits by animated dead relatives of mine, who I barely remembered. All the people Will and Booker had killed coming back to rip us limb from limb, that kind of stuff.

"Elizabeth?" asked Booker, with patience. "Why, pray tell, is your mother _a ghost?"_

"She's not a ghost, Booker, he used me to power some kind of device. He opened a tear or something, and now . . . I guess she's kind of a ghost. Sort of."

Booker and Will started pulling - and pushing, respectively - on the gate, eventually prying it open. "Don't worry, we're gonna' find her," said the latter, before she popped into existence a good twenty feet away from us.

I stared at the giant ghost-like zombified corpse in front of me, and I probably would have fainted if the situation wasn't so urgent. "You!" she said, staring at Elizabeth. Her voice consisted of one plain one and a chorus of whispers which echoed her original one. "You are a lie that spewed from my womb!" she shouted. Two corpses were lifted out of the ground, bathed in some sort of white light. _No no no no no no no no no no no no no. Not dead people. _

Two dead, partially decomposed people popped out of the ground, guns in their hands. Lady Comstock had resurrected them, and now they were coming to kill us. Elizabeth shouted, "What's going on?"

"Well, if I'm correct," replied Will, nonchalantly, "Your mother just decided to raise the dead, if that's possible." He fired at the ghostly blob that was Lady Comstock, with no apparent effect. Booker fired on the raised corpses, who collapsed as regular corpses after they'd been loaded full of bullets.

"So what do we do?" asked Booker, with a lack of the calmness that Will displayed. "Can we kill her?"

"I guess we just keep shooting," he replied, firing on her. "Try some vigors." No one seemed aware of the fact that I was in partial paralysis at one of my greatest fears being recognized right in front of me.

Booker hurled a ball of fire towards her, which she flew out of the way of. It crashed into the wall behind her before detonating. "That didn't work." He and Will fired off their vigors in rapid secession, none of which had any real effect on Lady Comstock.

"So bullets it is?"

"I guess so," he replied, before they both dived into cover. Along with the army of living dead that Elizabeth's mother was raising, she launched her own assaults, which consisted of giant silver whirlwinds that seemed to do something to Will and Booker, enveloping them in some kind of white mist that caused them to grimace. Elizabeth remained straight-faced, just staring at the conflict and scouring the area for supplies. I quite literally couldn't do anything, so I just collapsed behind a tombstone and hugged my knees, rocking myself back and forth.

After a few minutes - or seconds, I couldn't tell which - of gunshots, Booker finally noticed my condition. "Lucy?" he asked, looking rather surprised. "You okay?"

I tried to speak, but all I could manage was some sort of gibberish that even I couldn't put together.

"Oh. . . Okay?" he said, before standing up to shoot another lead slug in the approaching armies of dead people. Most of them didn't _look _particularly undead, but they were. All these people were dead before we came in, and now they were perfectly fine with killing us.

Lady Comstock seemed to be growing irritated with bullets flying through her apparition-like self, and she screamed at the top of her lungs - assuming she still had any - to summon another group of dead folk from underground, along with some of the ones who hadn't been completely eviscerated the first time. "Oh hell," muttered Will. "Elizabeth, you found anything useful?" he asked.

"No, I haven't," she replied. "Nothing you'd find useful, anyways."

"Well what is it that I wouldn't find useful?" he shouted again, desperate for some kind of help. All I could see was the bullets whizzing over their heads and them occasionally popping out of cover. I was too frightened to look around the tombstone. Occasionally, a zombified soldier would run around their barrier and get wrestled to the floor, before Booker stepped on its head or Will stabbed it or whatever.

"I've got a volley gun up here," she shouted, "but I doubt you could make any use of that." She seemed to be giggling at the situation, for whatever reason.

"Ha-ha, very funny, miss, now could you please toss us the damn gun?" She threw it towards Booker, who caught it gladly and started firing explosive rounds into the platoon of dead people in front of us. I needed to come up with some innovative name for the dead people, though.

You know, I've read books about dead people coming back to life, and this usually wasn't how it went. Most of the time, when stuff like this happened, it was because of some sort of necromancy or lack of faith, which I thought was completely and entirely benign up until this point. And now I saw that science could create these scenes in front of me, resulting in such complete and total peril. "B-B-Booker?" I shouted, over the chorus of moans and gunshots.

"Yes?"

"When we find Comstock, c-c-can I please hit him a few times?" I asked as innocently as possible. This was the most frightening thing I'd ever seen, and I wanted to make sure it never ever happened again.

He laughed slightly before popping out of cover again to shoot out some more explosives. "Yeah, sure," he said, while tossing the volley gun to the side. "That's out of ammo, Elizabeth, got anything else?"

"Afraid not," she said, from behind us. "Why, what do you need?"

"Preferably something to shoot with," he said. "All my weapons are just about down."

Will tossed over his rifle, which Booker caught gladly. "Use that. I've got about ten left in Sally."

"Ten? What's ten shots going to get us?" Booker replied.

"We'll just have to find out."

Will focused his fire on Lady Comstock, who screamed with aggravation and flew towards him and Booker. They were thrown off their feet by the large force coming at them, and they got wrapped in that white mist again, before Lady Comstock flew out of the graveyard. All the dead people dropped dead once again, with more than a few holes in them. Some of them had half of their heads missing from the first time we'd killed them.

They were both panting by the time they'd gotten up, and their faces contorted with agony. "Who knew somethin' like that could hurt so much?" Booker asked, cracking his neck. "Damn. . ."

Will let out a whooping noise and sighed as well. "You know, I just want to sit down and have a cup of coffee. Think we could make that happen, Booker?"

"It's on me as soon as we get down there, pal, it's on me." Booker extended a handshake, which Will accepted. "So are we good?"

"As long as I get that coffee, yes," replied Will. So everything was fine and dandy, except for the fact that I couldn't move.

Elizabeth leaned over me, a look of surprise on her face. "Come on, Lucy, get up, we've got work to do."

I shook my head. "I-I'll just sit here. Not risk it w-with any more dead p-people."

"You do realize that you're in a graveyard, right? All the dead people come here."

She had a point. I slowly got to my feet, even with my legs quaking underneath me. "R-Right."

Will approached Elizabeth from behind and placed his hands on her shoulders again, turning her around. "So are you sure you're okay?"

She pushed his hands down and turned around again. "I'm fine," she replied. "But thanks for asking."

"Is something wrong?" he asked. "You're usually not this irritable. Is it something about your mother?"

She turned around to humor him and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss. "I am _fine," _she said. "Nothing about my mother concerns me. I'm just glad you're not in such a funk anymore."

"Well, it concerns me," Booker said. "Your mother is _dead, _Elizabeth, and I don't know how that changed.

"She _was _dead," said a voice.

"Didn't we already go over this?" replied another.

Robert and Rosalind Lutece stood on the other side of the graveyard, digging graves marked with "Lutece" tombstones. "Here we go again."


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32: The Footprints

Will's Perspective.

The Luteces stood in front of us, digging their own graves. Literally, of course, not metaphorically. Booker groaned with aggravated. "Alright, please explain the situation. How the hell did that just happen?"

"Y-Yeah," said Lucy, still slightly shaken. "Are they alive, or . . . d-dead?"

"Why ask how," said Robert,

"when the delicious question is when?" finished Rosalind.

Don't you love riddles? I know I do.

"Like all of us, Lady Comstock exists across time."

"We all exist in various different places at various different times."

"If we could perceive time as it truly was,"

"what reason would grammar professors have to get out of bed every morning?" Rosalind laughed at her own witty joke, and I contemplated putting a bullet in the two of them.

"She's not dead or alive. She sees herself as being both."

"And she finds that condition . . . disagreeable."

Elizabeth grabbed my arm and turned me around, pointing at the floor. In front of me, there were ghostly apparition footprints that led out of the graveyard. "Look. . . Footprints," she said, feeling the need to state the obvious.

"She's going to unfinished business," said Robert, smiling. "And I believe that's where you need to go."

I turned around to see if they were both there, which, not surprisingly, they weren't. They'd disappeared into thin air once again. "I really don't like those two."

Booker shrugged. "I dunno'. They've helped me more than a few times. Gave me the shield infusion and whatnot."

"You know, the thing he didn't tell you about," said Lucy, joking once again. She was still deathly pale, though, and the glowing footprints we were tracking didn't seem to help.

Elizabeth locked arms with me and began to step forwards, humming some kind of jolly tune. I stared at her, generally shocked by her behavior as of late. The whole Daisy Fitzroy thing had gotten her really riled up. I nudged her, trying to gain her attention. She looked up at me with a wry - and fake - smile. "Huh?"

"You okay?" I asked again. "You seem a little upset."

She sighed deeply. "Well, what did you expect? I can't just do what you do, smile and forget about everything. I have no idea how you do it."

"Well, I do my best to think about the good things instead of the bad things, and then the bad things just kind of float away. They don't matter anymore."

"I still don't know how you do that." She looked at me with sorrowful eyes, and I felt a twang of pain in my chest. Seeing her upset really hurt.

"You can just think of it like this being the only bad part. Think of this as something trivial, and then be happy about what's going to go on below. After that, then we'll teach you about the forgetting part." I smiled as warmly as I possibly could in her direction, ignoring the pyres of corpses and flaming billboards surrounding us, let alone the giant swathes of blood that coated the floors.

She snuggled into my side, resting her head on my shoulder. "But there are some parts I don't want to forget."

"Then remember those."

"It's not that easy," she said, frowning at me.

"Yes it is. I should know, I did it. For eight years, as a matter of fact." We came across a staircase, which we slowly started to descend.

She sighed. "Promise me you'll never stop being so annoying. It's adorable."

"This is absolutely hilarious," said Lucy, from behind us. "We're walking down the middle of quite possibly the most ruined street in the entire world and you two find a way to gush it up. How admirable."

Elizabeth laughed. "I could gush it up a bit more, if you'd like, Lucy." She stopped me from walking and grabbed my cheeks, pulling me into another one of those forceful kisses. If I didn't love her so much they probably would've gotten annoying after the first two or three. Lucy made some kind of forceful gagging noise before Elizabeth pulled back, sticking her tongue out at Lucy.

"What am I, a prop?" I asked, rubbing the lipstick off my face with my sleeve.

She grinned at me with that giant adorable grin that I was starting to miss more and more, before dragging me down a staircase and into some other kind of plaza for Comstock. In the middle, there was a fountain with him kneeling downwards and holding that sacred sword that shot out water, and it was surrounded by - conveniently enough - Vox Populi. Now Elizabeth had stopped grinning, and they turned to shout at us. "Hey, those are the impostors! Get 'em!"

A hail of bullets started to fly towards me, which I just barely managed to avoid. Fortunately for me, no one in Columbia was a decent shot; I probably would've been dead a thousand times over if I'd been doing this down below. Wait, forget that thought. No I wouldn't.

Surrounded wasn't really the proper word to use. It was just four of them. Four Vox Populi who happened to think they were really really good at their jobs and thought they could take on two of the most deadly people on this floating city all by themselves. Good for them, better for me; nothing makes them easier to kill than false confidence. I shot the head off of one of them and then charged to another, driving a knife through his neck. Booker and I had 'em crying uncle before they were even dead. Of course, then we killed them; not taking any chances.

"Woo," I said, before firing a bullet into one of the men's heads. "That sure was tough."

"I hope you're being sarcastic," said Elizabeth, "because we surely have a lot more to handle than that."

"Aren't I always sarcastic?"

"I hope not," she said again, "or else we need to have a very serious discussion about your feelings." She stuck out her tongue at me and we looked around the area for more of the ghostly apparition footprints that existed for some reason.

_"_Why do ghosts even leave footprints?" I asked, staring around for them. "They don't exist."

"Evidently, she did exist, or else we wouldn't have been able to shoot her," said Booker. "About why they leave footprints, ya' got me. I don't know more than you do."

Lucy beckoned us over to a corner by the far side of the room. "Hey, look at this." She handed us one of those Voxophone recorder things that apparently existed and started to play it.

"Uhm, this is for the miracle child." The voice was rather distinctly that of a young girl, who spoke with shy kindness in her voice. "I am very sorry that your mother, Lady Comstock, has died." She cleared her throat and then coughed. "So, since you live there, do you think you could tell me why the tower is always closed? Some people say that it's because of bad weather, or the pox, and then some say it's haunted. . . If it's a secret, I promise you that I won't tell a soul! But I have to go now. Mother wants me to help her prepare dinner. I hope you reply this time. Your pen friend, Constance." The voxophone shut off and made a hissing noise, the needle now just dragging through a thin line.

Elizabeth cleared her throat slightly. "I never knew I got messages."

"I've seen a couple of things from Constance on the streets," said Booker. "Always something about her wanting to meet you, Elizabeth. She must've been a fan."

"What do you mean _must have been_?" asked Elizabeth. "Who's to say she's not still alive?"

"No one's saying she's not," I said, putting a hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. "Fact is, she isn't here and we are, and we've got business to handle. So let's find those damn footprints and figure out where to go, got it?" I smiled at her before turning around to scout the area for more footprints.

"You know, come to think of it, we're really bad at looking," I said, staring at the footprints directly in front of the giant "Lutece Laboratories" sign. They led inside, and the door was completely blasted out of its frame, leaving the way in wide open. And inside the doorway stood everyone's favorite scientists, Robert and Rosalind Lutece.

"Yes, you are. Aren't you?" said Rosalind, a smile on her face.

"Now, I do think it's quite a shame that you need miss Comstock to open the gate to Comstock house. Frankly, she doesn't seem to like you too much."

"Yes, but there is a way. You must discover the truths. Truths that, in this world, Comstock has erased. As he's so fond of doing."

"Ah, but what a shame. They're not _in _this world. If only one of you had the ability to alter time and space," said Robert.

"Wouldn't that be a blessing, brother?" A flash of lighting engulfed my vision and by the time it was back they were gone, as usual. _They sure pick convenient timing._

"Well. . ." said Booker. "They're certainly sarcastic."

"But you love it, don't you, Booker?" I said, in my most sarcastic tone of voice, just to spite him. _It's apparent to me now why I don't have too many friends._

He shook his head slowly and we marched inside the laboratory, which didn't look very much like a laboratory at all. Though I imagine that was just because the first room was reception; it looked more like a personal library than an office of lab. The far side of the wall was caked with books, and on top of the desk was a collection of voxophones. Booker grabbed the first one off the top and set it to play while he scrounged about for supplies.

"Comstock has sabotaged our machine," said the voice of Rosalind Lutece. "Yet, we are not . . . dead. A theory: We are scattered across the possibility field, of what could, can, will, and has happened. While this may not be the most amazing way of life, I am with my brother, so I am content. He, however, is not; the business with the girl remains unfinished. But, perhaps there is someone who can finish it, in our stead."

"I think they're talking about you, Booker," I said. "Did one of them hire you?"

He shook his head. "Nah, I didn't know either one of them. Though I do think they were the ones who rowed me out to the lighthouse. Maybe they did play a part in this. You got any idea who they are?"

"I know the woman. Rosalind, at least; she's contacted me several times in the past."

Everyone stood and stared at me for a moment. "Really?" asked Lucy, more sarcastic than questioning.

"What do you mean, really?"

"What was that we said about keeping secrets, Will?" said Elizabeth.

"Was it a secret? I didn't think it seemed all too important," I said, opening the door to the next room.

"That means they could have been pulling the strings the whole time. Maybe they're responsible for this whole thing," said Lucy.

"Sure, two not-quite-dead people sent us on a mission such as this one for us to save Elizabeth and do whatever else. That sounds rather convincing."

"It does, though," said Elizabeth. "Do you think this whole thing could be because of them? When you think about it, they've guided us a lot more than we really care to admit."

I shrugged. "Either way, I've got a snail waiting for me down in Paris, and I'm damn well going to get to it. Who sent me doesn't matter as long as I get down there as soon as possible."

"I'll drink to that," said Booker, as we stepped into the next room.

This part looked significantly more like a lab. In the middle of the room, which was fairly regular as far as Columbian standards, there stood a giant machine. The top of the machine consisted of various spheres, which directed electricity to other spheres and the giant circle on the ground. Coils of wire wrapped around between all of them, and the machine looked to have just exploded. But other than that, nothing was significantly laboratory-like. It was a regular living room with tons of books piled up in it. But I did notice the machine spanned multiple floors; there were holes in the floors of the rooms above us.

In the middle of the machine's set up stood a giant ripple in the air. "Should I open it?" Elizabeth asked, confirming that it was a tear and not a result of the machine.

We all nodded unanimously and she opened it, creating that dreadful ringing noise and pain in my head that didn't disappear for hours. I'd never tell her, but her whole tear thing made me absolutely miserable, and I wished that she would stop doing it. Every time we did something remotely dimensional I felt my eardrums explode and couldn't hear anything under a scream.

Fortunately, the voices inside the tear were screaming. "You whore!" shouted one of them, which distinctly sounded like Lady Comstock.

And then the other one spoke; Rosalind, from the sounds of it. "Oh, please. Miss, I assure you that my sexual interests in your dear prophet are entirely nonexistent. Not to mention, the man _is _rather sterile. I've told you countless times that the Miracle Child is a result of an experiment with our machine." I looked towards Elizabeth, whose mouth was wide. _Uh oh._

"That's a lie. Come take your little bastard and get her out of my house! I don't want to see her!" shouted Lady Comstock, before the tear closed. Unfortunately, the pain didn't disappear quite as easily."

"So they're not my parents. . ." said Elizabeth. "So what does that make me?"

"I don't know," said Booker. "And I don't think any of us want to find out." The rest of the room went silent and I tried to look as nonchalant as possible, to be that stone face in a room of chaos. I liked to think of myself as an anchor that way. Evidently, it wasn't working this time.

"You know. . ." Elizabeth said, as she started to step towards the exit. With any luck, she was changing the subject. "I don't know if my mother belongs here," she said.

"What do you mean?" asked Booker. Lucy and I stayed silent, as we usually did when any tear things took place. I don't think she could stand it anymore than I could, for whatever reason.

"I know I brought something through to this world, but I don't know if it's her. I've just been thinking that . . . maybe, just maybe, it's a . . . a manifestation of what I think of her." We stepped back onto the streets, to see it exactly as we'd left it. I did my best to remain calm, but this whole pain thing got progressively worse as we went. And it didn't help that now we were fighting beasts that literally _came _from tears. They _were _tears. That didn't help.

"So you think of her as some kind of crazy beast who wants to kill us?" he continued, looking somewhat confused.

"Well. . . I don't think of her quite as a crazy beast, but I think of her as some kind of evil being whose single goal is to make me miserable," said Elizabeth, a hint of guilt on her face.

"So do you think it's too late for you to change your interpretation of her into something nicer, like a nice mother who bakes cookies for us, wipes away the Vox Populi and opens the gate to Comstock house whenever she's asked?" said Booker, taking the words from my mouth before I could say them. Or, at least, I think that was what he said. I still couldn't hear over the ringing in my ears. I exchanged a glance with Lucy, as we periodically did whenever tear things happened. And just like me, she wore an expression of monotone misery that no one but the two of us could interpret. We rehearsed this kind of thing.

Elizabeth laughed slightly. "No, I don't think I can do that. But I'll give it a shot." They both laughed and I attempted something similar, though I think that just attracted attention. "You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, just fine," I said. "Let's keep going, shall we?"

We continued down the street - me in misery - until the ghostly footprints led us to the next location, which I recognized rather plain as day. "Hot damn," I said, staring up at the familiar sign. "I didn't know Rupert kept the place open."

Everyone blinked several times. "Rupert?" asked Elizabeth. "Who's Rupert?"

"My former assistant. I used to run this place. 'Columbia's Finest Photography from Columbia's Finest Photographer.' Even if I wasn't Columbian."

"But I thought you just used photography as . . . you know," she said, knowing not to bring it up. What a good girl.

"It was a hobby, too, or else I wouldn't have done it. And when I got invited up here, I had to make a living off of it, so this happened. Rupert Cunningham and I did things from here to there, all parts of the city and even some things below. Good times. Wonder how the lad's keeping up."

The door was locked. "Here, let me pick it," said Elizabeth, but I stopped her.

"Wait, let me see if the spare key is where I left it." I looked inside the plant next to the door, pulled out the box, opened the box, pulled out the key inside the box, used it to open the other box inside the box, and then took out the key to the door. Then I opened the door and we stepped inside.

"That seemed unnecessarily complicated," said Lucy, obviously starting to feel better. Then again, I was, too, so she probably recovered at the same rate I did.

"Complication is my middle name," I said.

Booker sighed and clicked his tongue. "Will? Care to come take a look at your back room?"

I did as he said and took a look at the photography chamber where we'd used to work. Inside, my secret cache of various weapons - ranging from pistols to rocket launchers - had been upturned and spilled out, as well as looted. And I thought I'd hidden it so well. "I had to feel safe, Booker, you understand. And who knew? One day a revolution could've broken out or something."

"You know, come to think of it, why didn't you visit this when you came to Columbia for the Elizabeth thing? Or told us that you had a giant cache of weapons that could've gotten us through a war or two?"

"I don't know. It never came to mind. All I need is Sally." Booker slammed his palm into his face before setting about looting the cache for ammunition, and then we searched throughout the building for a tear. It was behind the counter, and Elizabeth opened it rather quickly, creating that obnoxious distortion in my head that I absolutely hated.

"W-What? The Luteces?" said the voice of Rupert.

"That's Rupert," I pointed out, my own voice killing my head. _Note to self: No more talking. Or thinking. That hurts, too._

"You can't be alive," he continued. "I-I took your funeral picture!"

"Yes, you did," said Robert. "And made an absolute mess of it."

"Indeed," continued Rosalind. "One does not expect a picture of their corpse to be so . . . absolutely lifeless." Then the tear cut to another point in time.

"So let me get this straight," said Rupert. "You mean to tell me that Fink is the one who killed you?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," said Rosalind. "Fink sabotaged our machine and that would be why we're still here."

Rupert scratched his chin. "I see. . . But why are you telling me this?"

"Remember your former boss, William? William R. Foreman?"

"Well, of course I do, but what about him?"

"Let's just say that he needs to know this as well. So if you ever see him, make sure you tell him absolutely everything we just told you. That is, assuming he isn't listening to it right now." _God dammit, they're clever._

"That wasn't very useful, but it was informative," Booker said. His voice seemed to burrow into my ears, leaving me with some kind of echo in them. I glanced towards Lucy who glanced towards me, and we silently communicated that repeated exposure must be what makes this thing worse. So we needed to come up with a way to not be around when they opened the next tear.

"Yes, but I think that might be important." Even Elizabeth's voice, which I usually rejoiced to hear, created an obnoxious rift in my head. I don't think I managed to keep a straight face this time, because Elizabeth was staring at me rather oddly. "Will?" she asked. "You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why do you ask?" I said, my voice burrowing in my ears and echoing for a few minutes. I exchanged an apologetic glance with Lucy for making more noise than necessary.

"You just . . . You don't look okay. Is there anything I can do?"

"Nothing's wrong," said Lucy, smiling. "You should listen to him more often." Our unspoken language appeared to be working.

"Alright. . ." said Elizabeth. "But tell me next time something goes wrong, okay?"

"Got it," we said, simultaneously.

"Right," said Booker, now decked out with some more firepower. He had a rocket launched strapped to his back and his shotgun certainly had some improvements. "So where will the footprints lead us next, I wonder."


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33: The Bank

Booker's Perspective.

Aside from Will and Lucy's odd behavior, everything was rather normal - that is, if you could call Columbia burning to the ground "normal".

I didn't want to mention it around Lucy or Elizabeth, considering that they both grew up here and both had such strong feelings for people, but I was pretty sure Columbia wasn't going to get back up from this one. And I'm quite sure that's for the better; the people up here sort of had it coming, from how I saw it. Down below, when we make mistakes, we pay for 'em. And these people had put off paying them for too long.

We were walking down the street we'd been on earlier, backtracking to follow the footsteps. The billboards in the area were assembled differently, though; all the Columbian family-man pictures had been pulled down in front of some canopies. Almost as if they were being used . . .

as cover.

To confirm my assumption, a bullet whizzed past me and barely missed. It probably wouldn't have missed if it wasn't for the magnetic field around me, so I thanked whoever was up watching over us for that, before diving behind whatever cover I could find. Unfortunately, none of the cover offered me any decent protection, because they were a good hundred feet above me. So this was great. "Will," I said, "You're gonna' have to make sure these people get dealt with. You got the rifle, right?"

He nodded and shrugged his shoulder, slinging it off of his back and into his hands. He knelt down and looked through the scope, trying to locate the source of the shooter, while I tried to avoid the shooter in general. The last thing I needed was a two-inch bullet in my chest. Soon I noticed that the bullets weren't just coming from a single location; they were raining down like a hailstorm from all kinds of different directions. "You know what," I called to him, "On second thought, maybe we should just follow the footsteps and run."

"That sounds like an excellent idea, Booker," he said, before he started into a sprint to follow the glowing footprints that existed for some reason. I still couldn't get my mind around the whole tear thing. Will, Lucy, and Elizabeth all seemed fine with the fact that there were multiple dimensions, but I just couldn't sift through it all.

While I was thinking about that, a bullet found its way through my shield and flew right above my shoulder, missing by a hair. And then, I realized I didn't have time to think and might as well just run furiously with one thought in mind; glowing footprints. So I sprinted after those, dodging the hailstorm of bullets that was entirely focused on bringing about our demise. "Booker," shouted Lucy, "The footprints head to the bank! Get inside!"

Indoors. That sounded like a _really _good idea right about now. I stormed wildly towards the gates of the bank, which were - conveniently enough - locked. "Give me some time!" shouted Elizabeth. "I don't know if I can do it while we're fighting, but I'll try!"

"That's all we need!" I replied, and pulled off my shotgun. We were under the cover of the bank's roof, even if we weren't inside, so the snipers were no longer our concern unless they made their way down here, in which case we could handle them. So all we had to do was hold them off until Elizabeth got finished, which I could do. I knelt on one side of the canopy, and Will knelt on the other, preparing us for anything that was to come our way.

Of course, life is never as easy as it likes to make itself out to be, as I'd learned several times from gambling, and platoons appeared on either side of us. I hurled a fireball into the crowd and crouched with the magnetic shield Return to Sender provided placed in front of me, collecting bullets. It was amazing to watch them all condense in the center of the golden field until they looked something like a ball of magma, due to all the heat, and then, when you hurled it back, it sailed at the same speed it had before. They all separated and found themselves targets, and I whistled, impressed. It wasn't something most folk could do, after all. I just killed a squad with some of their own bullets.

I heard a clang from behind us and Elizabeth shouting, "The gate's open, Booker!"

"Thanks," I replied, rushing towards the door. I held it open and waited for everyone else to get inside, before slamming it shut. I glanced around the room - which was rather ruined, mind you - and looked for something I could bar the door with. I grabbed a rifle from one of the corpses and shoved it through the handles, keeping it securely closed. "Will, help me set up some traps in here."

We used our array of vigors to line the entire room with vicious traps that could drown them, suffocate them, send a flock of murderous crows at them, slam their heads into the ceiling, and everything else I could imagine. We were very thorough with our work, and even opening the door would result in the death of just about anyone outside. And anyone who came in after them would meet the next wave. That left us parched for salts, though. "Keep an eye out for some salts, you two," I said, directed at the girls. They nodded.

Now I took a more thorough analysis of the room. I did take a weapon off of a corpse a moment ago, but that wasn't the only one in here, naturally; all of the employees had been murdered in their desks. Wrapped in red linen, and then shot, as was the Vox Populi standard. Then, the corpses had been piled up after the room had been painted with their blood, and they were set to burn. Now there were charred remains in the center of the room, and a plant on the far side was still on fire. I inhaled deeply, the scent of burning flesh digging into my senses.

"Ugh!" Elizabeth covered her mouth with her hand. "What's that smell?" she asked, the question muffled.

"What smell?" asked Will and Lucy simultaneously.

I turned to look at them, a somewhat suspicious expression on my face. "What do you mean _what smell? _Surely you know what burning flesh smells like, Will, we've been here long enough."

He seemed to have some kind of sudden realization and then scratched the back of his head. "Oh, that? I've just gotten so used to it that it doesn't smell anymore, that's all." He laughed nervously. Lucy copied the laugh, and then they paced across the room.

"They're hiding something."

"Definitely." Elizabeth shook her head slightly and followed them, heading towards what I could only assume was an elevator.

Will punched the button and we silently waited for the door to open. I couldn't wait to get away from that smell - and if you've ever smelled a burning human, you'd know. Working with the Pinkertons familiarized me to quite a few things that most people would find horrendous, and you think I would've gotten used to it by now, but I hadn't. It was just as horrible as it was back then. It was just . . . easier to cope with, I guess.

The door opened, and the very first thing I noticed was the man standing in the middle of the elevator with a pistol pointed forwards. After he noticed that we were standing there, he chose a head to aim at - which happened to be mine - and threatened to shoot. "I-I'll shoot!" His voice was muffled. It appeared that he was a member of that Fraternal Order of the Raven, the people who worshiped Lady Comstock with a passion. He was wrapped in the black robes, and he cackled with happiness.

Will pulled his gun on him, and then he wizened up. He dropped his pistol and raised his hands in surrender. "That's right," said Will. "Just calm down. Could you tell us what happened here?"

The inside of the elevator was caked with blood, and three Vox Populi corpses sat dead, freshly killed by - probably - the man in the middle of the elevator. "I-I had to kill them. They threatened to kill me, and Lady Comstock!"

"What do you mean, they threatened to kill Lady Comstock?" I asked, trying to sound as nice as possible. "She's been dead for years."

"Oh yes, I know, I know, sir, but she's returned to us! In an enlightened form. She knows what she did not. She is what she could not have been in life! Our diligent worship returned her to us, and I will not allow her to be taken again. You don't want to take her, do you?" He leaned down and picked up the gun again, his hands shaky.

"Don't worry. We don't plan to take her from you. Why, is she in there?"

"No, I don't believe so, sirs. A-Are you fellow worshipers?" he asked, nervously.

"Yes," replied Will. "And we need to speak to our fair Lady to negotiate something with her. We have desperate need of her assistance."

The "fair Lady" thing must have done the trick, because the man relaxed. "I-I'm not sure if I believe you, but I'm afraid I have to, in these desperate times. I am not sure if she is here, but I will be sure that she knows of your troubles if I am ever to see you."

"Right. Well," Will said, "I need you to leave through the back window. We've prepared the front for an ambush from heretics, and I'd hate for you to be hurt." What an actor he was. "There should be scaffolding out there, and from there, you can get to safety. Good luck."

The man bowed. "I'm blessed to meet others such as myself in such times of strife. I will dedicate myself to worship, after I've located a safe place, and then I will pray for you." He bowed his head to us and then started to depart through the back window, and Will was right; there was some kind of fire escape that only led up that could probably get him out of here. That is, if the Vox didn't find him first.

"Why'd you save him?" asked Elizabeth. "Why didn't you shoot him and be done with it?"

"Because some people are sweet and innocent. Didn't you see? That man was no trained killer." Will took a moment to observe the corpses in the elevator. "I doubt those were even his kills. Maybe he played them off as his to look intimidating. He didn't want to hurt anyone. Sure, he's a little deluded in his worship, but he doesn't want to hurt anyone."

That sounded about right. Some people just weren't fit for hurting other people, and he certainly fit the description. I'd met tons of people in my line of work that didn't fit the description, though, and they still did it. Hell, Will hadn't fit the description back then, but _he _did it. I wasn't willing to take any chances. "It's too late to question otherwise. Let's get going."

I punched the button after everyone had stepped inside, and the door closed. Everyone tried to steer clear of the pool of blood, except me and Will, who stood in it, openly. I sighed, trying to think of a subject to make conversation with. "So," I said, without thinking.

"So, Booker?" replied Will.

"Urh. . ."

Elizabeth took a moment to ask something. "Why are you acting so strange?"

"What do you mean, strange?" he said, perfectly straight-faced. He must rehearse.

"You and Lucy have been acting rather odd lately. For a while, actually. All the time, when you're around us, you two start acting weird and looking at each other in strange ways."

"I've got no idea what you're talking about," he replied. "Is it a crime to look at another person?"

"No, but it's the pretenses under which you look at each other. It's like you don't care about what's going on around you and just ignore everything but each other." Elizabeth seemed just a bit jealous, and I could certainly recognize jealousy; I'd heard it quite a few times when I came back from a bar and a certain someone thought I might have been having an affair.

"You're being silly, Elizabeth," said Lucy. "We've just got some similar issues, and it helps to have someone else to rely on. You know.

Will let out a sigh. "Don't listen to her. She doesn't know what she's saying."

They certainly weren't picking and choosing their words right. Elizabeth looked both hurt and angry, and just as she was about to let that all out, the door opened. "Hey, it's the False Shepard!" shouted the Vox on the outside, right before they started firing at us.

"Oops, got to run," said Will, sarcastically. "We can finish this discussion elsewhere." He rushed outside and pulled Sally out of his pocket, firing into the crowd. One, two, three heads shot off, and then I turned to my own section of the bank to clear out. Overall, this part wasn't as ruined as the part downstairs had been - though I imagined it would be, soon. The floors were still littered with the corpses of dead workers, but other than that, most of it was the same. In the middle sat the desks, which were bloodstained, and some were even riddled with bullets, and then on either side of the room there were the booths that the employees operated out of. Then, there were two over-head sections that led onto balconies above the aforementioned booths. The room was perfectly symmetrical, save the misshapen circular door at the far side of the room, which I imagined led into the vault.

Shotguns; a man's best friend. I ran from person to person, loading lead into their chests with each pull of the trigger. The Vox Populi were certainly armed to the teeth, though, and I thought it was ironic how we were fighting against people with the very weapons we helped them attain. If I hadn't lied to Elizabeth and the rest of them in the first place, that probably wouldn't have happened and we could have been in Paris by now. Just goes to show you, I guess.

The room was cleared out eventually, even if it did take us a little while. I stepped towards the vault and decided to see if we could find anything inside. "So," I said, "Got any idea on where the tear is?"

"Not a clue," said Will. I don't know if any of us had forgotten about the conversation in the elevator, but Will didn't seem to care in the slightest. "And that leads me to believe that it'd be back there. So how do we get in. . ."

I glanced around the room, to find a secret "employees only" section of bank. "Think that's worth a shot?" I asked.

"Anything's worth a shot," he replied. "Girls, we're getting a move on."

Elizabeth stood a little ways away from the rest of us, and Lucy stood a directly behind us. The tension was obviously still high, and neither of them seemed to be taking it well. "Got it," replied Lucy. Elizabeth remained silent, chewing on her lower lip.

The back rooms consisted mainly of storage; tables that weren't in use, desks and whatever odds and ends they felt like storing. Then again, that might've been the Vox Populi's doing; maybe it had a purpose at some point in its existence. Maybe it didn't. Either way, it led us to where we wanted to go; we stepped out of the dark, cluttered corridors and found ourselves on the other side of the giant, circular vault door. "You know," Will started, "What was the point of spending so much money on an advanced and secure vault door if all we had to do was walk twenty feet around?"

I shrugged. "Got me." _If bank robberies were this easy, I could've been rich a long time ago._

Oh, and what do you know; the payload was a giant statue of Comstock that had valuables and whatnot draped around it. Though I can imagine the Vox had looted most of the gold or silver that had been in here originally, so we were probably looking at the leftovers of the bank robbery. _Yeah, maybe the whole vault-door-decor thing wasn't such a great idea._

"I found the tear." It was Elizabeth, of course. "I'm opening it."

"Lucy, can I talk to you for a second?" Will grabbed her by the shoulder, but I grabbed his wrist before he could drag her out of the room.

"You probably need to hear this," I said, keeping him in place. They both sighed.

Will bit his cheek as the tear opened. "So. . . You want _me _to kill the Luteces?" It was Jeremiah Fink, if I was correct in recognizing his voice.

"Yes. You need to sabotage their machine."

"I see. . ." Fink seemed confused, unlike the enthusiastic business man I'd come to think of him as. "And why do you want _me _to do it?"

"You're the only one who can make it seem like an accident." The other voice cut out, along with the tear, which disappeared into thin air. Will and Lucy were acting all strange again - clenching their fists and biting their cheeks, exchanging nervous glances with each other.

"So what _is _wrong?" I asked, deciding it was time for some payback from Will.

"Yes, I'd like to know as w-" Elizabeth started to speak, but she was interrupted by some kind of screaming banshee.

"Bastard child! He wanted you more than me!" called the voice of Lady Comstock. The vault door slowly drifted open, draped in some the mist that she enveloped her victims - both resurrected and not - in, and her figure was apparent on the other side. She stared at us in her disturbing form. _And to think she had been so attractive before the whole resurrection thing._ After she was done staring at us, she screamed at the top of her lungs - or whatever was left of them - and flew out the room, leaving everything in a thin layer of mist.

"So we found the three truths," I said. "What now?"

"I guess we head back to Comstock house?" said Elizabeth.

Will and Lucy nodded, and started to step towards the elevator. "Wait," I called after them. "I'm not done with you."

Will took a deep breath and sighed. "Do we have to do this _now? _I'm a busy man, you know. We've got things to get done." His tone was hushed and nearly silent.

"Why are you talking so quietly?" I asked. _This better not be something trivial._

Lucy sighed. "We get tear-induced headaches and stuff, and we're not sure where from. We've got some theories, but we didn't feel like sharing them because we thought you'd think we were liabilities."

I blinked several times. _That was all? _"That was your big secret that was worth getting so worked up over?"

"Well, it's not just a headache," said Will, now talking in a regular tone of voice. "It's like something burrows into the back of our mind, desperately protesting us doing _anything _for a while. It's hard to keep walking with it in there, let alone talk and fire weapons. That's why we're not into this whole tear business. Imagine a migraine and then multiply it by ten every time you move."

"And you two put up with that . . . every time I open a tear?"

"Every time," they both said, simultaneously. "I'm not sure _what _it is," continued Lucy, "but it's not really fun. I imagine we'll find out what it comes from and then leave it behind along with the rest of Columbia." She grinned, despite the incredible pain in her skull.

"I'm sorry." Elizabeth muttered. "I thought you two were keeping more secrets from me. Specifically you, Will, because you _promised."_

He shrugged. "No harm done. Now if it's all the same to you. . ." He bit down on his lip until it started to bleed, and then he let out a little whimper of pain. Lucy practically burst into tears, crying furiously.

"Been waiting to do that all day," they said, after they were finished with their outbursts. "Pain hurts, kiddos."

I blinked again. _Of all the people to be stuck with. . ._


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34: The Dead

Elizabeth's Perspective.

The streets outside the bank were deserted, contrary to what I expected after that huge display the Vox showed us. Then again, all the traps inside the building were tripped, which I assumed meant most of them had gotten killed and whoever hadn't had shipped out of here while we were in the bank. So that was a plus.

I tried to think about the whole headache issue that Lucy and Will were having, though. _What about my tears could be making them so miserable? And should I keep doing the tears if they can't put up with it? _It tore me up inside to think I was hurting them by doing something I'd thought was so innocent. And I'd never known that it hurt them so much, so I'd been unintentionally putting Will through an experience such as that. And Lucy, too. I promised myself I'd refrain from using tears as much as possible.

And now we were in front of Comstock house again, back to where we'd been. But something was different this time; Lady Comstock - the ghost one, that is - was flying around to the statue, wailing like a banshee, and in front of her was our friend from earlier; the raven guy. He stood there, looking up at her in delight, until he spotted us - however he did that. "Oh, my friends!" He ran towards us, "I have informed Lady Comstock of your plight. She will grant you an audience, if you'd like! I must thank you for saving me, friends, I must, but we'll do that at a more proper time." He beckoned us over, "Come, come!"

Maybe Will saving him hadn't been the best idea in the first place. He'd turn against us anyways after Lady Comstock attacked us, so him being alive seems to just be a problem. "So, you got a name?" asked Will.

"Shh!" He raised his finger to his lips - or where they would've been, if he wasn't wearing his uniform. Will raised his hands defensively, nonchalantly, and this Raven turned towards Lady Comstock. "My dear Lady, who blesses me with her presence, I have brought fellow worshipers who have a plight! They need entrance to Comstock house, and I know for a fact they are not sinners. They have saved me, only for faith. I pray that you listen to what they have to say. Come forth, friends!" He beckoned us over again, cackling maniacally. _This guy must have some head problems._

Booker begrudgingly stepped forward and waved to the ghost. "Miss Comstock," he said, respectfully.

And that was when the fun started, if you could call it fun. My mother started shouting again, now hovering in one place. "Bastard child!" it shouted again.

I ran forwards and stood in front of it. "I'm not your bastard!" I shouted. _Might as well try to negotiate while I can. _"You are not my mother. Rosalind Lutece isn't either. But you're both dead because of me. . I-I don't know what I am. . . But I didn't do anything, I promise!"

And then my mother's ghost screamed again. Furiously. It wasn't anything literate, it was just a furious scream, and then the corpses of business men, citizens, and soldiers alike raised from the ground, enveloped in white mist. "O-Oh no!" shouted our Raven friend. "You have angered her! How could you have angered her?" he shouted. I saw him sprinting away, and I guessed that that was a problem solved.

"Booker, suggestion: How about, instead of giving her corpses to resurrect, we just get rid of them? I mean, they're already trying to kill us. Use some of that Devil's Kiss stuff, and Shock Jockey. Get rid of 'em, so they don't come back." Will pulled out Sally and fired from the hip into three men's heads, as he often did, and they all dropped, lacking the aforementioned heads now. He was a really good shot. Then again, these things all originated from tears, so he was probably miserable right now, and I felt a twang of guilt in my chest. No time for guilt, though.

Something in the corner of my eye caught my attention - a tear. And inside the tear were three mosquito turrets, which could easily help us obliterate the squad in front of us. I bit my lip, restraining myself from calling it in. "Booker?" I asked. "Should I?"

He knew what I was talking about. "It ain't my problem, go ahead!"

"I'm sorry!" I shouted. I ripped the mosquitoes into reality, and I heard Will scream in pain slightly. He dropped to his knees behind cover, and I noticed he had fired Sally exactly as the tear had been called in. And gunshots, specifically ones from a weapon of such high power, must hurt your ears when you've got some crazy headache. I felt another, more severe twang of guilt this time. But he and Lucy both recovered after some time, going back to their tasks.

Booker was obliterating the field - quite literally. Most people were turning into ashes in front of him at the hands of Devil's Kiss. I made a note to keep an eye out for salts, but perhaps calling in the Mosquitoes was a bad idea; they were just killing people, who were soon to get brought back by Lady Comstock. Speaking of Lady Comstock, her combat pattern was a little odd. She'd fly towards one of the boys and start wrapping the area in some kind of mist. Then, they flew backwards, suffering varying amounts of damage, though Will usually appeared in much more pain.

"Booker, you need to do a better job of burning these people! There are still way too many!" shouted Will.

"I'm trying my damnedest, but you're not exactly helping!" he replied, throwing another grenade at them.

"Oh, please, allow me to help! Would you like me to _water _them to ashes? Or _stab _them? That might work, you know!" He pulled the trigger again, but Sally's barrel was empty. He flicked it to the side and put another six bullets in with admirable speed, before flicking the barrel back in and spinning it, before it locked back into place.

"Drop the sarcasm and help me out here!" Booker was literally wrestling with the dead people. Most of the ones with guns had already been handled, so it was just the ones with bludgeons and fists that he needed to handle. That probably would've been easy if it wasn't for Lady Comstock. She blasted her white mist towards the boys every time they managed to get close to defeating the people.

"You know what?" called Will. "I'll keep an eye on Lady Comstock. You handle these things!" Will grabbed his knife off his belt and ran towards Lady Comstock, dragging it through her closely head. "Come and get me!" He started off in a sprint around the plaza, bringing Comstock with him. I couldn't tell, but she certainly didn't look happy.

Now Booker had some wiggle room. "Thanks, pal," he shouted, condensing a ball of fire in his palm. He hurled it towards the crowd of people, who tumbled to the side, now on fire. Flames licked at their flesh, and more than a few of them disintegrated right then. Booker took a few minutes to handle the rest of them, which was relatively easy, and then he was able to turn his attention to Lady Comstock.

I grabbed a bottle of salts off the bench and tossed it towards him. "Booker, salts!" He caught it just in time and nodded, downing the bottle. Then he turned his attention to Lady Comstock, who was getting holes punched in her left and right by the mosquitoes up above. Will didn't take much time to shoot her, busy running around and occasionally turning around to see where she was and make sure he evaded the strikes. As for Lucy, she was sitting with her back against the statue, mumbling to herself. Whether out of pain or fear, I wasn't sure.

Comstock flung Will and Booker back, until they were standing in front of the gate to Comstock House. She stood in front of the statue of herself, wrapping it in the same mist that she was wrapped in herself. She was given full form, and screamed at them, tendrils of smoke starting to appear in the air and travel towards them.

"Wait!" I shouted. I ran in front of them. "Wait! I'm not your bastard, I tell you!"

"He wanted you more than me! He loved _you _more than _me!" _My false mother shouted at me, the air growing colder as she got angrier.

"He pretended to love you! Just like he pretended to love me!"

"No, he loved me!" she shouted.

"No, he didn't! Look, I'm angry with him too, but for this to work, we have to forgive each other!" I shouted. It wasn't just a negotiation tactic, I meant it. My mother wasn't as terrible as I'd initially thought. Propaganda said one thing, but she just suffered an ill fate, like I did. "Please, forgive me!" I shouted.

Suddenly, the air around us chilled, and she stopped in midair. She didn't move a muscle, assuming she had any. "What am I?" she asked. Her voice was normal now. She wasn't screaming, but talking in a silent tone.

"You're . . ." I couldn't think of a genuine answer to give her. "Dead."

"Why am I alive?" she asked. "Why do I feel things?"

I took a moment to contemplate the answer. "This version of you . . . isn't alive. But perhaps, in another world, this _is _you. This is you in a world, where you never met him. . ."

She sounded enlightened, and happy. "Or one where I fixed him?" Her tone was almost hopeful.

"Possibly," I replied.

"Find out, child," she said. "Find out." Then, she flew up again, and rushed towards the gate to Comstock house. In a flurry of wind, the door burst open, and part of it . . . disintegrated. Um. Okay.

"I think that's settled," said Will, standing up. He put his hand on my shoulder. "You okay?"

I nodded. "She probably found something to be happy about, now. Maybe she's floating around in another dimension, being happy with myself." I took a moment to contemplate what my life would've been like if I had grown up with a regular family, and her as my mother. She didn't seem cold or heartless. She was just hurt by the betrayal of the man she thought she would love forever. I would probably feel the same way, but I hoped it would never happen.

He smiled at me, but then he was knocked to the side by a fist to the face. "You!" shouted the Raven person from earlier. "And you! All of you!" He was back, but now, I'm pretty sure he was angry. And he had one of the golden swords from the various displays around Columbia. "You've all gone and done it! Our fair lady is gone again!" He swung the sword down at Will, but Will grabbed him by the wrist, twisted the sword, and put it to his own neck.

"Look, pal, I'm getting a little sick of all the crazy people in this place. And you're not doing me any favors." The tables had completely turned. Will was now the one in a blind rage, while the raven could only sit and watch. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't kill you right now, and maybe I'll consider." The man started to stutter, trying to come up with something, but Will tossed him away. He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned around, ignoring him. "Go away." Those two words worked wonders, and the raven sprinted away, laughing with either fear or bemusement.

Lucy finally popped out from behind the statue. "A-Are all the dead people dead again?"

I laughed slightly. "Yes, they're all dead again." I looked towards the two of them. "How do your heads feel."

"If you want honesty, someone just stuck a drill in my ear and set it to spin for eternity. Why?" The bluntness with which he said it kind of hurt, but I decided to shrug it off.

"I'm sorry," I replied. "It just needed to be done. I'm sure you understand, right?" I said, sarcastically.

"Of course I do. Now c'mon, the gate is open." He turned on his heels, and I took a moment to consider just how lucky I really was. Even if the price of it was this whole miserable thing, the people I was spending time with were amazing, and if this was the way I had to meet them, then so be it. I could manage with that as my hand.

The bridge over to Comstock house was like a gondola, but instead of a boat, it was one large platform. "How're you on ammo, Booker?" asked Will. "I'm as dry as Nevada."

"I'm not quite that low, but I reckon we'll need a restock some time soon." He punched the button at the far side, setting it to move. The platform was literally slower than molasses, though, and with the distance we were from Comstock house, I took it upon myself to assume it was a long ride.

The sky was growing more and more ominous as we approached. Lightning flashed, the clouds grew dark, and everything screamed ominous to me. Even the glorious design of Comstock house, which was designed to please the people, lurched above us as if it was an evil construction designed purely to pose opposition. Though, I suppose I would see it like that, with my opinion of Comstock.

"So this is it," I said. "Is this really it? Are we going to get out of here?"

"Yep. We finish this, and then we're done." Booker smiled wryly.

"Goddammit." Will said again.

We looked at him with puzzled expressions. "What?. . ."

"You ruined it again, Booker. Positive thoughts in a negative environment almost always result in bad things."

And, as if on cue, we heard the telltale shriek of the Songbird and I saw its silhouette shaded against the clouds, the only thing visibly its eye. It landed next to us, grabbed Booker and Will, and then hurled them - both of them - towards one of the buildings behind us. They flew through the window, and then, I felt its hand wrap around my body and it carried me off, leaving Lucy stranded on the platform. "Elizabeth!"

It was too late for her to save me, though. Songbird dropped me around the rim of the building and then grabbed a segment of the roof, and I watched as he uprooted it with ease. He hurled it to the side and then climbed inside the building, standing over Booker. It scanned him with yellow light, and I rushed inside, trying to save him. The Songbird would launch its attack at any minute. I pulled aside debris, somewhat angry at the fact that I was wearing a dress right now, and I ran in front of them just as Songbird plunged his fist downwards. "Stop it!"

Songbird's eye flashed from red, to green, and then he looked at me, bathing me in light. I glanced towards Booker, hoping he remembered our deal from earlier_. Don't let him take me. Please. Please, don't let him take me._

Songbird reached towards me, preparing to wrap me in his hand again. I was completely and entirely obedient, but he didn't grab me. His hand got blasted away by a spray of water, and then another one wrapped around it. Will was standing on the other side of the room, quite literally wrestling with Songbird, though his limbs were enveloped with water. "Don't touch her, you little bastard bird! I may not be twenty feet tall, but I pack one hell of a punch!" The only weapon he had in his hand was a knife. He had either lost Sally, or she was dry on ammo.

Will threw Songbird towards the other side of the room with water, and his eyes shifted from green, to yellow, to bright red. Violent red. He shrieked and charged towards Will, as well as a bird could, but Will was just too fast for it. He jumped on top of its arm, and then onto its head, driving the knife into the leather canvas the Songbird was constructed out of. It didn't _seem _to be doing anything, but I was amazed that he was even fighting the Songbird. Love can make a man do crazy things, I guess.

Will plunged the knife down into Songbird's cracked eye, and I think that was when the straw broke the camel's back. He lurched, flinging Will off of his back. I watched the scene with horror as Will flew into the air and then slammed into the ground. He started to sit up, but Songbird grabbed him, tightened his grip around his chest. Then, he hurled Will into the air, watched him hit the ceiling, and then, as he fell, he slammed his fist into him, which sent him towards the floor once again. Will landed to the ground, still. He didn't move, or scream in pain, or anything. His body sat there, face down on the ground.

Holding back tears was impossible. I started to run towards him, to check if he was alive, screaming incomprehensible things at the top of my lungs. As I was about to lean next to him, Songbird grabbed me and ripped me back into the air. The very last thing I saw in that building was his body, sitting there, probably dead, and all I could think about was how completely unlucky I was, right then. _I've just lost . . . One of the most important things in the world. _He was gone now. He had to be. I clawed at Songbird's hands, but it didn't work. It never had worked, and it never would. I was to be trapped again, and better yet, the very last thing I saw was Will getting beaten by Songbird's giant fist. "I'll never forgive you for this!" I shouted. "You've stolen the very most important thing from me!" I wasn't sure if it understood me, but it almost looked a little sad. Its eyes flashed to green, and it tried to pat my head against its beak to show friendship. "I'll _never _forget this. I'll _always _hate you."

I missed him more than anything, and he'd only been gone for thirty seconds.


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: Really glad everyone likes it so much! I'm taking a bit more time between chapters to give people more time to read, just in case anyone was wondering. Back to it!**

* * *

Chapter 35: The Boys

Booker's Perspective.

_What. . . Just happened? All I saw was Songbird nearly punching me, Will getting the shit beaten out of him, and the rest was a blur of Songbird flying out the window. _I rubbed my eyes and stood up. The very first thing that ran through my mind was saving Elizabeth, but then I noticed that checking on Will was probably more important. I ran across the room to look at him, and I didn't quite like what I saw.

He was battered, if that was even a word for it. And I was pretty sure arms didn't bend that way, and I'd seen just about every way an arm could and couldn't bend. His legs were underneath his back, and if he had been awake I might've thought he was doing a circus routine or something, but he was far from awake. I leaned down and jabbed two fingers into his neck; no detectable pulse. I held back a wave of anger, sadness, and disappointment at the same time.

Even if he wasn't family, and I hadn't known him for too long, he was one of those few people I could actually call a friend. Even before Columbia, he was one of my only real friends, and I bit on my tongue until I drew blood. Holding back tears, I grabbed his hands and crossed them over his chest, aligning him more normally. "You're gonna' be okay, buddy. You're in a better place now." I muttered silent prayers and whispered hymns, praying for his passage into whatever afterlife there was. "You're gonna' be okay."

Suddenly, I heard panting on the far side of the room, and I turned around to see Lucy in a ruined dress with a bloody cheek. She was holding her pipe, which actually had blood on it, and was partially bent. "I fought my way up here. W-Where's Elizabeth?" She glanced down at Will and I heard her whimpering. "I-Is he?. . ."

I nodded solemnly. "Yeah. Yeah, he's moving on."

Her eyes immediately went puffy. She stepped towards his corpse and knelt down next to it, checking for the pulse in his wrist and neck. She evidently came to the same conclusion I did, as she grabbed his wrist and started to sob into it. We sat there for a few minutes, even if we needed to save Elizabeth. The whole Will dying thing was more important, for the moment.

She shook her head furiously now, sniffling her head and wiping away tears. "No. No! Not now, you bastard!" She slammed a fist down into his chest. "You've done way too much stuff now for me to just let you get away Scott free, pal! I still need to scold you for getting me into this mess!" It would've been funny if it wasn't so emotional. She started to sob hysterically now. "I'll strangle you again! I'll walk straight up to heaven and strangle you if you don't get up, right now, you little. . ." She grabbed my hand and pointed it towards his chest. "Hit him with a Shock Jockey."

"What does blasting his body achieve us? He's dead."

"He's not bleeding, and I'm pretty sure his spine is intact. His skull's not broken or anything. You can still kick his heart back up again, with a shock! Or, at least, I'm pretty sure!" It was convincing, and I couldn't say no to her sobbing face.

"Fine," I muttered, "But when we disintegrate his body, I'm blaming you." I took a deep breath in, and blasted a bolt of electricity at him.

At first, he didn't move, except the normal fizzling people usually endured when I hit them with this. "Another time," she said, and I did it. Again, he didn't move. "Once more."

But I didn't have to do it once more. He started sputtering, spitting out bile and shaking furiously. "Is this a good thing?" she asked, taking a step back. "Is he supposed to be vibrating, or is he disintegrating now?"

". . . I think he's disintegrating now?"

The electricity faded away, and I saw something I never thought I'd see again; his eyes fluttered open. He grabbed his jaw immediately, but the pain in his hand must have been pretty immense. So yes, he didn't suffer any lethal damage, his heart must have just given out because of all the trauma. And I'd just traumatically brought him back to life. "What. . . What the hell?" he said, looking up at the ceiling. "What did you two just do? Why do I feel like a steak?"

Lucy practically tackled him in a hug, which he moaned and groaned too in response. She leaned back slightly. "Oops. Sorry. Now promise me you'll never scare me like that again, you little bastard!"

". . . Feel free to tell me what I did any time now, Booker. Last thing I remember is one hell of a punch. . ."

I smirked, overjoyed at the fact that this son of a gun wasn't dead yet. He'd be dead some time soon, but that bird wouldn't be the death of him. "Welcome back to the land of the living, pal."

"So something _finally _killed me." He threw his hands in the air, even if they flailed around in the wrong directions and he groaned in pain. "And when I _didn't _want it, too. So. . . Where's Elizabeth?" he asked, looking around.

. . . Right. Elizabeth. "I've got to go rescue her. Songbird's taking her back."

He groaned. "Back. . . Back to work." He tried to sit up, but I heard his moan of pain. "J-Just give me a hand, will you?"

Lucy put a hand on his chest. "I'll make sure _he's _okay. No one's going to be coming up here any time soon. You go take care of Elizabeth, please, will you? We'll be here when you get back." She started to do a thorough damage report on Will, shooing me off. "Go on, go. I cleared out the downstairs area. You ought to be fine."

I trekked through the deserted tower, and damn, Lucy'd done a nice job. People were bludgeoned over the head, beaten, and generally unconscious. I wasn't sure how many of them were dead, if any, and I didn't care to check. I looted them for ten or so shotgun slugs, shoved them in a pouch, slung it over my shoulder, and set across the bridge.

The most important thing I noticed was the bridge getting hit by lightning. Different parts were unfolding, and the storm was going absolutely crazy. I heard one of Songbird's screeches, and I felt by blood boil. "Hey, you!" I shouted, hoping to get his attention. "I'm going to get you, you hear me, you feathered piece of shi-" Then, I felt the world wrapped in white around me, and some strange sensation in my head.

When the sensation was gone, I was staring at the front gate to Comstock house, which was surrounded by giant, sculpted faces of the Founding Fathers; or, at least the ones Columbia worshiped. Flanking the bridge were statues of the same people, wrapped in sheets and holding their respective objects of worship; though, I don't remember Ben Franklin being that muscular in any pictures I ever saw. But other than the religious zealots who build this place, there was something unusual about it; and what was that?

Snow. Mountains of snow. And I mean literal mountains, stacked up on top of the roof and the bridges. I was marching through snow. "Snow?" I said, aloud. I had been so used to travelling with others and voicing my thoughts that it was weird to just think things. "It's July," I muttered. "And it was raining just a few minutes ago."

Inside, there was a hallway, the carpet made of velvet and the walls lined with candles. They looked freshly placed, which was odd, considering I just got in here and no one had been placing any candles when I arrived. There was no residue of people, either. _They don't pay me enough for this job._ Then I took a moment to thoroughly analyze the room, and I noticed a ripple in the air, and a voice coming from inside. "Please!" shouted Elizabeth's voice. "Please take me back to my tower!" She was begging and pleading for help. _How come I can hear this? This doesn't make any sense._

I sighed to myself and walked up to the door, shoving it open with my shoulder. I raised my shotgun to a readied position, until I saw that no one was inside. But even if someone had been inside, I would've been taken aback by what I saw; A statue of Elizabeth, made of beautiful white limestone, holding the mighty Sword of Columbia. A banner said "Our Lady Elizabeth: Godspeed thy Judgement". And that could _not _have been right. First of all, if they built this just now, they had a damn good sense of what she was going to look like, and secondly, they shouldn't have been able to build it if they'd just gotten her. _Had it been there for long? _

Other than that, there was nothing significant in the room. Portraits of Lady Comstock and whatnot, but what was more interesting was the voice recording of Elizabeth. "Some men dream of money. Others, dream of love." She spoke with the same tone as her false father had in similar messages. "My father dreamed of a flood of fire!" she shouted. _There's no way in hell she'd call that bastard her father._ "We were given Eden, but we turned it to Sodom. Why do we deserve salvation, pray tell?" She chucked slightly. "The Lord gave Noah a fish in the form of a flood. But he was not so easy on me. He said, 'Prophet, I want you to train a nation of fishermen!'" It was like the propaganda Comstock would've used, but it was . . . her voice. I could never picture her saying any of that. Let alone hear it.

Around the statue of - dare I say it - Elizabeth, there was another room, and directly in front of me, there stood a poster that said: "NO SIN EVADES HIS GAZE", depicting a man wearing a large mask with horn-like shapes sticking out the side, along with a large light like thing in the center of his face. A tear spoke from next to me: "What is this place? What do you want to do to me!?" Elizabeth's voice called through again, and I felt pained, wishing I could reach through and help her in any way. But I couldn't. As that one closed, I heard the sound of her voice. "P-Please!" It didn't sound distorted at all; it was her. "I don't understand! What did I do!" She screamed out in pain, wailing in sadness.

I rushed forwards with my shotgun in hand, failing to notice the tear-manipulated men banging on walls and wallowing in their filth until it was too late. I came face to face with the creature depicted in the drawing, and it stared at me with a burning intensity. The red light in its eye glowed, and then it wailed at the top of its lungs, before disappearing in what looked like a tear. _Wait, a tear?_ And then those tear-manipulated men I mentioned became a significant problem. They popped out of the tear and pulled wooden clubs out of no where, batting them against the wall. And then, they started to run towards me.

They looked a little like what I imagined Founding Fathers would look like if they'd been ripped through tears, didn't have eyeballs, and had plastic heads. So basically, they were some of the most obscene things I'd ever seen; dressed in full white dress uniforms, waving their clubs around wildly, and wearing the faces of famous Founding Fathers. _That's a new experience for me._

I snickered as the first one approached me, loading a slug into his chest. I expected blood to shoot out and for him to fall down to the ground, his insides ravaged and his face lifeless. But while his face _was _lifeless, everything else wasn't. The slug didn't even leave a wound, it just bounced into the tear and a little blue circle was left at the point of impact. The creature struggled for a moment, and then it slammed the club down into my forehead. If it wasn't for the magnetic shield, I'd probably have been knocked unconscious, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell. I jumped backwards and shot it twice more, and surprisingly enough, it dropped dead. And then it dissipated into nonexistence, because apparently, people do that now.

But that left, what, five of them to handle? And I was all alone. _Goddammit, Will, don't get near killed next time. _They all rushed me at the same time, and I hurled down a Shock Jockey trap, enveloping them in a web of electricity. It stalled them for a moment and gave me just enough time to kill two of them, but two wasn't even close to enough to get me out of this. A club slammed into the back of my right leg, and I staggered forwards, falling to my knees. I spun around and loaded a slug into his chin, and fortunately enough, his body dissipated. So two left. Should be easy enough. But _damn, _did that hurt.

They rushed me together, and I hurled a Devil's Kiss towards them. I couldn't use Return To Sender, because they didn't fight with bullets, so the conventional vigors would have to do. They were lit aflame, and even if it barely phased them, it was the valuable second that I needed to hop to my feet and unload the shotgun into the air in front of me. After three or so shots, they were dead on the ground, and then they evaporated into a tear-like mist. I reached onto my belt and prepared to reload my shotgun, but then I noticed there weren't any slugs on my belt.

And there weren't any slugs in the gun, either. I was dry on ammo. "How the hell am I gonna' kill these things without ammo?" I muttered. With luck, that would be the last of them, and I liked the thought that I'd used up all my bad luck by now and deserved a little good luck. I approached the gate which led into the next room, and found that it was locked shut. "Elizabeth, think you can get this lo-"

Wait. Elizabeth's not here. So that doesn't work. I pressed down on the intercom button next to the door. "Hello?" I shouted, into the wall of static. "Look, I just want to see the girl. We don't have to make this hard."

Then I noticed the sign next to the door. "Entrance can only be opened from the Warden's Office." Which meant if no one replied, I'd have to go all the way up to the Warden's office - which was apparently on the third floor - just to get this thing to open. And I didn't have time for that. Elizabeth was getting tortured over on the other side of this thing. I punched the wall before spinning around to approach the elevator, which was the only way up that I could see.

"I can't deal with this shit," I muttered to myself, slamming my fist into the button. A tear was perfectly placed in the very middle.

"Look, I don't want to do this, just take me back to my tower!" called Elizabeth, in more rage than pain.

"You and I both know it's too late for that," replied a male voice. "Your father gave you a lovely home, which you destroyed."

"He is _not _my father!" replied Elizabeth, with fury being the only word I could use to describe her tone. Then the tear shut, leaving me in silence once again, save the whistling of the snow from outside, which I could hear thanks to the ruined and broken windows.

I leaned against the wall and stared at the Sky-hook on my hand, figuring it was my only chance of survival. _I've successfully cocked up this situation more than anyone could have possibly done. There's no way in hell this is going to end well for me. But I've got to save Elizabeth, and then we can save Will. . . But will it really be the same? There's no way we're just walking away from this. Too much emotional turmoil on everyone's part. We might never recover from this kind of stuff._

The elevator spoke as it raised. Elizabeth's voice rang out over the PA, "I believe you've noticed the displays throughout the house. William R. Foreman, say the kinetescopes, praising his work. The photographs around the room were taken by him. He was a man I knew once; a man who affiliated himself with the False Shepard. He was courageous, headstrong, and for whatever reason, I fell in love. I fell in love, hopeless love, with this man, and when I was cured of him, I did not realize it until it was too late. I could not see past his charade until it was too late, and by the time my Father told me the truth, it was too late for me to correct my mistakes. But like all other sins, that was remedied. He lies dead now. At first, I was filled with sorrow. But now I see the joy I should've felt."

_Well that's interesting_. The PA shut off, leaving me to rise through the levels in silence. The glass screen in front of me was covered by the floor of the next room, until it slowly rose. I saw a pair of feet; then, I saw a man's legs. His pants and shoes were black, which didn't consist with anything I'd seen in here so far. Once we'd risen all the way, I came face to face with the barrel of his gun, and the door slowly slid open. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked. There was a woman cowering behind him as well.

Will Foreman stood in front of me, lowering his gun and tipping his hat down over his eyes. The woman beside him was Lucy, but that didn't make any sense. _I'd left him, dying, not even thirty minutes ago. How?. . . I need a vacation._


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36: The - Wait, What?

Booker's Perspective.

I still couldn't quite wrap my head around the fact that someone who was dead thirty minutes ago, and even then was pretty much broken in every way, had somehow managed to mosey on pass me and completely recover in the time it took me to get here. I hadn't gotten a very good luck at Lucy yet, but something seemed off about the pair.

He blinked, before lowering the gun. "Booker?. . ." He waved his hand in front of his eyes. "Am I . . . Are we awake, Lucy?"

She nodded. "Think so."

". . . Booker. Huh." He shoved Sally back in his pocket. "Haven't seen you in a while. How've you been holding up, and more importantly, why are you here? Didn't you leave?"

". . . I'm lost. Aren't you. . . You know. Out of commission?" I asked. "Just a moment ago, you were. . . You were dead, and then we brought you back. And even then, you could barely move your hands."

Will cocked an eyebrow. "That happened. . ." He turned back to Lucy, as if to confirm. She nodded. "A year ago? Almost? Little bit more, I think."

_Wait. Wait wait wait. Red flag. Red flag, goddammit. A year? How could it have been a year? I've barely been in here for more than a half hour. There's no way in hell I just decided to take a nap. _

"Have you even washed your clothes?" asked Lucy, stepping forwards. Will hadn't changed his attire much, but she was in something completely new; and rather fancy, for that matter, which meant they must have looted some fancy clothing shop. It was like red velvet with some kind of floral print on it, and a white jacket which wasn't even slightly dirtied covering that. "They're just as bloody as they were before."

I waved my hands in front of _my _face. "I must be hallucinating. There's no way. . ." I took a few steps forward and slapped Will, trying to see if he was - in fact - real. Which he was.

He grabbed his jaw. ". . . Ow? What was that for?"

"Are you alright, Booker? How long have you been here?" she asked. "You left, and we thought you'd saved Elizabeth and left Columbia. Now that Will's capable again, we thought that we should go check and see if you two were both . . . you know. Intact. The Revolution's been quelled, sort of, for the most part, especially with Comstock's passing. Some new power has supposedly been pushing them back, and Songbird's actually been put to use for fighting, considering Elizabeth doesn't need much protection. . ."

"Comstock's passing?" I asked. "Then who's in charge?"

". . . I dunno'," she said. "We left around the time we were listening to his funeral. Will decided he couldn't wait to go check on his little girlfriend again."

Will stroked his chin at that last part. "So if Booker's here, then where's she?" he asked. "If he didn't die, then . . . what happened? Where is she?"

I stared in front of me, completely and entirely bewildered by what was going on. "Okay, hold up. First of all, the year part. It hasn't been a year, it's been thirty minutes, and you," I said, pointing at Will, "should be under a rock right about now. Secondly, Comstock dying; there's no way in hell Comstock died. He was terrorizing us before we came in here, the whole Songbird thing!" Will flinched when he heard "Songbird".

"Booker, are you drunk?" asked Lucy, very seriously. "Or have you been smoking too much?"

"I tell you, I'm fine! You two must be crazy! Either that, or you're not real. You're like those . . . tear people I fought down there. Yeah, you don't belong in this dimension, that's it! You're out of place. You two should just . . . stay here until I'm done."

"Not gonna' let that happen, Booker. I need to make sure Elizabeth's okay. It's been a year, but. . . She has to be here. We already checked Monument Island, and turned the damn city upside down. It has to be here."

"Wait, what about Monument Island? I thought Songbird tore that place down."

"Damn, Booker, you got amnesia?" He chuckled. "They rebuilt Monument Island months ago."

"And how did you two not get killed, even if it _has _been a year? You two are wanted criminals!"

"Lucy knows how to hide." He shrugged. "It's not like I was moving around much, and the Revolution was more concerning. More importantly, how are _you _not dead yet?" he asked, an arm on my shoulder. I shrugged it off.

"Look, you two, just stay here. I'm going to go finish what I started and go find the _real _dimension's Lucy and Will." Then I had an idea. "Wait. You two don't have any . . . headaches, do you?"

"Headaches?" He tilted his head. "What makes you think we've got headaches?"

Lucy tilted her head. "Well. . . If you'd like to know, it's terrible. It's been terrible since we set foot in this place."

"Goddammit, Lucy, we discussed this. The tear thing wasn't to be mentioned." Will threw his hand in the air with defeat and spun around. "It only reminds me of it."

"So you two _are _under the influence of some kind of tear." I snapped my fingers together. "Are you even the real Will and Lucy? How do I know you aren't just going to turn into those president things?"

"You mean the things we've been slaughtering since we got here? The only ones we've managed to avoid were on the bottom floor, if I recall. The one near the gate that led to the warden's office, right?" Lucy nodded, and I noticed that these two had certainly developed some kind of new relationship; Lucy was much more introverted and shy than she'd been last time, and Will seemed to ramble on to himself and she'd just sort of listen and nod. Maybe she got tired of being around him for so long and figures talking to him isn't worth the while. I'd feel the same way after a year of taking care of that bloke.

"You can avoid the things?" I asked, tilting my head. "They all attacked me downstairs. Oh, and thanks for leaving those behind. Really appreciate it."

"If you avoid the giant horn-head, he can't sic his dogs on you. And that's generally a pretty good way of _not _getting killed." Will took out a cigarette and began to put it towards his mouth, but Lucy hit it out of his hand and sent it to the ground. She stared at him with a cross expression.

"I've told you that you're not supposed to smoke, Will. You've only ever had one or two, what got you so addicted?" I thought to myself, _They're generally pretty addictive._

"I learned that they made my bones _not _hurt like hell, and that's pretty useful." He took out a pack of cigarettes and tossed it towards me, anyways. "But he can have them if they're that bad for me."

"He shouldn't have them either," she muttered under her breath. "Fine. Let's just . . . finish what we started. You coming, Booker?" she asked, and I noticed for the first time that she didn't seem happy. She never seemed upset before, but for some reason, she was sad now. Lucy, unhappy, that's a shock. I was almost concerned, but seeing the things she'd seen, I'm not surprised she got upset. "I just want to get down below. . . I don't care if it's France, of America, or Antarctica, for heaven's sake, I just want to get down below."

"I promise, we're getting down below," muttered Will. "We have this discussion every day, have you lost faith in me?" he asked, turning around and leading her forwards.

"It's just. . . You've been crippled for so long, and I thought Booker was coming back to get us, and all I've been able to do is sit in the same room and watch you get better. . . It's boring! And it's hard to keep hope when so much time has passed. . ."

"You think _I _had an amazing time? I _couldn't _move. You could have left whenever you wanted, but you didn't, that wasn't my fault! You could be in France with your parents by now, but you're _not_.I didn't make that happen."

"Look, we don't need to have this argument again." She grabbed her elbow and bit her lip, an air of nervousness about her. "Let's just finish what we started, okay?" She flashed him a momentary grin in a completely adorable way, and then he grunted.

"Fine. But then, I'm getting out of this damn place. And then I'll construct a goddamn missile complex in my back yard to shoot it down. I've had enough of Columbia to last me a lifetime."

"Or two, considering you've already died once." _. . . Are these two bipolar? _

Will grunted again. "Perhaps. I don't like to consider that, though."

These two really had changed. Will usually made sarcastic remarks and was never seen with any unhappiness in his eyes, and now he was just a cold slate of not caring about anything at all. Then again, he _did _get nearly - or, more, he did - murdered by a giant bird, and his lover was imprisoned, so I guess that helps. And then there was Lucy, who was quiet, shy, and unhappy now. It was like they'd decided to completely recondition their personalities in thirty minutes - I still refused to believe it had been a year. But how the hell had this happened to them in such a quick time? And why do I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach?

Will snapped his fingers in front of my face, bringing me back into realism. "Oi. You coming?"

I shook my head slightly, waking myself up. "Y-Yeah. Let's get out of here."

I took a few more steps forward and looked at the bullet marks on the floor. I raised a finger and took a breath, as if to say something, but Will interrupted me. "We killed some things here. That was before we learned you didn't _have _to kill them. So. We're going up to the Warden's office, aren't we? To open the door, that is."

"How'd you know about the door if you didn't get caught by the things?" I asked.

"I read from a distance." He said it as if it was the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. "Rushing isn't really going to get me anywhere. I've already been here a year."

". . . True, I guess. Except you _haven't _been here a year," I muttered, hoping they couldn't hear it. If they could, they said nothing.

I ignored all the Elizabeth propaganda going on above me. It was difficult to listen to; her sweet, innocent voice, preaching about her father, the Prophet, and how much she loved him. "I chose to follow a False Shepard, and when the wolves came for me, he was no where to be found." That statement hurt me, for some reason; she seemed to be pinning everything on me, as if there hadn't been other people around. As if Will and Lucy had been fine, but somehow, I'd failed her, and it was my fault. Or maybe it was just because she needed something to preach about.

"I once thought my father was evil," said her voice, as we crawled across the wooden floors. The room was filled with beds, upturned clutter, pillars, and dead tear presidents. We were trying to evade one of the horn-heads, as Will so eloquently put it, because I really didn't have enough ammo to tussle with his pals. "I even chose to deny I was his." Hearing her preach about how much she loved her father was almost revolting. Apparently, she somehow managed to record all of these speeches in thirty minutes and now idolized her father. _This doesn't add up, _I thought, as I crawled under a bed.

Will stood up and burst into a run in front of me, and I noticed that the horn-head was staring at him. The white light had turned yellow, and I knew that soon it would turn red if I didn't distract it. I grabbed a rock and hurled it towards the wall, and surprisingly enough, it turned away from Will to stare at the damned rock. I struggled forwards and jumped up after I was out from underneath the bed, and I sprinted after him, barely making it back into the door before the spotlight found its way towards us. I glanced around to make sure Lucy was still here, and then I sighed of relief. "Everyone's alright," I whispered, sure that the horn-head could hear me if I talked too loud.

Will confirmed that thought by raising a finger to his lips and jerking his thumb over his shoulder, indicating we should get a move on. I did as he said and we continued walking forwards, observing the ruined state of Comstock house. You would think, considering it's his home, that he would take much better care of the thing. But he doesn't, evidently; it's all just completely and entirely ruined. Piles of trash were laid about the rooms.

The next one we stepped in to had one of those large red chairs Columbia liked to use in the middle. The only difference was that there was a tear on top of this one, and that it and the entire area around it was covered in blood. "Wh-What are you doing to me?" said Elizabeth, in a tone I recognized. "C-Can I just go back home?"

"Relax. We're not going to hurt you."

"B-But you're already hurting me!" she screamed at the doctor.

"Look, Elizabeth, this is going to heal you." That voice was Comstock's, and I felt rage building up inside of me. That bastard.

Though, looking at Will's face, he wasn't much happier than I was - as a matter of fact, I'll bet he was just about pissed off enough to rip that tear into shreds, if he could. Come to think of it, these tears are probably hurting him, so he's probably really really pissed off. It must really suck to be Comstock now that he's made an enemy of him.

"I'm not sick!" she continued, and I could hear her struggling against restrains.

Comstock clicked his tongue. "It's not an issue of the body, my dear, but an issue of the spirit. And our science will cure you of this issue." Then the tear cut out, and I looked at my companions.

Lucy was comfortingly holding Will's shoulder, and he was clenching his fists in rage. I could tell he was saying _something _under his breath, but all I could see were clenched teeth and white knuckles. And Will was a guy that was really hard to piss off, I knew - I'd spilled coffee on him more than a few times - and once he was pissed off, you didn't want to be in the firing line. "Hey," I said, in as comforting a voice as possible, "It's gonna' be alright."

"It'll only be alright once I've forced that bastard to eat his fingers," Will said, his voice teeming with fury. "Come on, let's get a move on." He marched forwards, and I glanced towards Lucy.

I didn't know if it was the right timing, but I asked. "What . . . happened to you two?"

She shrugged. "Time. Too much time around each other under the wrong circumstances. It would've been different if Will and I had been having some kind of year-long vacation or something, but this was us constantly hiding, and him in constant pain, which endures even now. We've been through a lot together, and I guess it's made us both bitter, but in different ways. He's the . . . angry type of bitter, and I'm the depressed type of bitter. And even though we had each other, I can't. . . I can't keep him happy, as much as I'm trying. We do our best to keep the morale up, but. . ."

I put my hand on her shoulder. "I never should have left you two."

"But you didn't have a choice," she said, shrugging it off. "And perhaps that was for the better. We slowed things down. You can say we didn't, but we did. We were more trouble than we were worth, with my parents, and Will's past and all of that. It's all been burned into my head like someone branded it there. I don't even remember what my room looked like anymore, but every kill, every death, I remember in stunning definition. It's just. . . Sometimes, it gets to be too much for me. And Will doesn't do a very good job of letting me forget, even if he does try to make me happy."

"You two really just . . . sat around?"

She shook her head. "No, and I think it would've been better if we had. Will insisted that he was fine, that he could move about, and that's why his recovery has been so slow. He refused to admit that he'd been knocked down a peg by a giant metal death-bird, and he insisted that we'd save Elizabeth before we left Columbia. I even managed to get us a ride out of here, once, and he said no. . . He wouldn't leave without her. I guess love does crazy things to people. Either way, we were always on the run, and Will was always getting hurt more and more. . . And every time something happened to him, it almost felt like I felt it too. Like I knew that something terrible was happening." She flashed me a forced smile. "But I guess he's fine now. He's just as pigheaded as ever, huh?"

I looked at Lucy with a new perspective, one of pity. Those two had - apparently, even if it has been thirty minutes - been through a lot, and I wasn't there to help them with it. And here they were, changed and miserable, and there was nothing I could do about it now. I wanted to reach out and comfort them both, because I'm pretty sure they needed it, but I didn't have time. And I wished I had time.

Will stepped back into the room. "Alright, Lucy, no need for the sob stories. Fact of the matter is, we're here, I'm pigheaded, and we're all getting the hell out of here. Got it? Good."

She shook her head slightly. "S-Sorry." And now she was back in her shell, scurrying after Will in a nervous way. It was almost like some kind of brother-sister relationship. They were surely almost family by now - true partners, I guess. Made that way through more than a year of stress pouring down their backs. I'm not sure how they did it without going insane; then again, Will's always been insane, and Lucy seemed pretty close to breaking, if she hadn't before. "You're not still mad at me, are you?" I heard her say, from the next room.

"I wasn't mad in the first place. I'm surprised it took you that long to blow your top at me."

"I-I didn't blow my top at you, Will, I just got . . . frustrated, that's all." I stepped into the next room.

"Relax, I know I'm a pain in the ass. You've put up with it longer than anyone else, and I owe you more than I can repay. If I recall, it was your idea to bring me back from the dead in the first place, wasn't it? So you can yell at me whenever you feel like it." She smiled slightly and he smiled wryly in return.

That is, until the buzzing started and the red spotlights of the turrets trained in on their position at the bottom of the staircase.


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: Talk time for just a minute. Hey, sorry about this late update, but I do have a reason! A few days ago, I burned the ever-loving bajeebus out of my hand, and typing is kind of hard when your hand wants to be put out of its misery. But fortunately, it's recovered enough that it can work its way around a keyboard. **

* * *

Chapter 37: The Ruins

Booker's Perspective, still.

They both jumped to cover rather instantaneously and Lucy threw Will something I couldn't recognize. It seemed like they'd done this countless times. Will raised the object to his mouth and then I realized he was taking pills; painkillers, probably, and then he pulled Sally out of his pocket and stood up. Out of one hand shot a tendril of water, which shorted out one of the turrets, and then he shot the lights - literally - out of the other one, incredibly fast. If I'd thought he was talented before, he was _definitely _talented now. A year of constant opposition must do that to someone.

"Hey, intruders!" shouted a man's voice, the first one I'd heard in a while that I didn't recognize. I charged up the stairs and past the ruined turrets, loading slugs into various soldier's chests. At least combat hadn't changed at all; all the Founders still looked the same and used the same weapons, so that was good. I wasn't sure if my brain could handle any more of this stuff.

There certainly were a lot of them, which I should have expected. It _was _Comstock house, after all. Across the way from the destroyed turrets, there were gunners set up on a balcony, constantly firing at us. When one needed to reload, the other took his spot, meaning we could never get out of cover well enough to get a shot in. Will managed to lick a few off, but other than that, we were in a pincer position with the soldiers pouring out behind us as well. Those were easy enough to handle, at least.

"Booker, get a Devil's Kiss over there," called Will, and I shook my head slightly before obliging. It exploded in mid air, pouring orange liquid down on their heads. Several of them disintegrated, but none of the others faltered even in the slightest. It was still a rain of bullets, but it had lightened up slightly. "You know what?" he muttered, blind firing around the corner. "Let's just make a run for it."

I nodded slightly, making sure the shotgun was loaded. I observed the signs throughout the room and saw that the Warden's office should be up a flight of stairs, which meant we were getting there. Then, I could save Elizabeth. But after seeing these atrocities for myself, and being victim to them. . . I wasn't sure how this was going to turn out. But I was coming for her, and that's what mattered.

In the slightest pause between fire, I sprinted towards the back of the room and into the next one. They all took this opportunity to fire at me, and I hoped that Will had taken some time to eliminate the rest of them while they were distracted, but for now I had bigger concerns. Hopefully, there would be a staircase around here somewhere, but I wasn't sure which way to go; I had two options, with two rooms on either side of the hall I was currently in. One of these would lead upstairs.

_Go left. We always go left._

So I went left. And I almost instantly started to regret that decision, because the room on the left was filled to the brim with soldiers. That's not too many, considering it was a small room, and I caught them by surprise, but I would have preferred an empty room to this one. In the center of the room, there was a table and two chairs next to it, but one was turned over and coated with blood. In the middle of the table, there was a revolver, and its barrel was bloody. In the center of the table, there was a stack of eagles. _Looks like a game of sorts. And whoever was playin' it wasn't the brightest bulb in the box._

I flicked my hand to hurl out a blob of blue jelly, which enveloped the room in a net of blue electricity. Anyone who wasn't trapped in the field was my immediate target, and I dispatched them with bullets, watching as everyone else fried. I never got tired of watching people spasm like that, even if it did mean I was killing them. It was a ludicrous motion, and it didn't help that some of them were literally shooting bile out of their mouths. That lot was immediately put out of their misery, and I took a little bit more time to familiarize myself with the room. Not that it was necessary.

On one of the walls, there was another poster about that horn-headed freak we'd had so much trouble with. _How has he not heard us by now, speaking of that? _We've been shooting for a while now. You think that'd attract his attention. Anyways, it described whatever he was; Boy of Silence or something like that. Apparently, it used to be some kind of child that had outgrown its uniform and was meant to serve - get this - Lady Elizabeth. I still can't get over all of this Lady Elizabeth stuff. Comstock must have set some things into motion before anyone even got here. _How did they know they'd have Elizabeth?_ Then again, optimism helps.   


I heard two people come into the room behind me, and turned around to be greeted by Lucy and Will. He was panting rather heavily and sweating furiously; this combat must be taking a toll on him. "You alright?" I asked.

"Please," he said, between breaths. "I could run a - a marathon." He waved his hand at me. "I-I found . . . the staircase. Come . . . Come on." He backed out of the room, and I looked at Lucy, who seemed agitated.

"Something wrong with you?" I asked.

"He refuses to admit he's in trouble, that's all. It gets annoying." She flashed a Lucy-like grin at me, "But I should be used to that by now, shouldn't I?"

At least she's being happy again.

As it turns out, the staircase was in the room on the _right, _just as my luck would have it. Still, I had a moment to observe how Will had handled the situation outside, and my lord, it was impressive. However he'd done it, all of the bodies were practically clean, no exploded heads or anything. It was all executed to perfection. I suppose a year of constant firefights does that to a person, though. Especially when the odds aren't in your favor. Regardless, I wouldn't want to be gettin' in to any tussles with him any time soon.

So we ascended the staircase, and right in front of us, we saw the Warden's office. It was a glass cockpit-like structure, filled to the brim with monitors and designed perfectly for monitoring. All the cameras were destroyed, but they were probably strategically placed to. It had a view of the three previous floors, and most nooks and crannies were visible. If anyone had been up here, they would've seen us - or me, at least - for sure. Will was generally a lot stealthier than me. "Booker, you go pull the lever. I'll cover you."

I approached the console and put my hand on the door release lever, sighing with anxiety. _Don't worry, Elizabeth. We'll be there._ I felt a little weird thinking things like that, but I felt some strange obligation to her. That I needed to protect her, that it was literally my job. Then again, it _was_: My life, and all of our lives, are on the line, and we have to protect her for us to remain safe. So I guess that's what it is. Either way, the lever went down and I heard the ding that confirmed the door had opened, as well as confirmation on one of the cameras. I sighed with relief and spun around -

to see one of those Boys of Silence directly in my face. He screamed furiously and then disappeared, sending me flying backwards - not unlike Lady Comstock did, when she wasn't on our side. Will and Lucy spun around with weapons raised, and then I noticed that Lucy still had the pipe from the Hall of Heroes. It was still bloody, and had collected rust and dents, but then I was more concerned by the alarm lights on above me. "What the hell, Will? I thought you were on lookout!"

He raised his hands defensively. "Hey, I promise, I didn't see him walk in. They can use tears, right? Maybe that's what he did. Either way, we've got much greater concerns!"

Anyone who hadn't come to attack us had appeared on the floors behind us, setting up a barricade in front of the destroyed turrets. Will pulled Sally out of his pocket and loaded her up, - why do I refer to that gun as a female - and raised her to a ready position. "Alright, okay, we've got to handle this. I'll take point. Booker, set up in the room you cleared out earlier and take some time to prepare traps. I'll take cover at the top of the stairs and we can spread the fight across multiple floors." He fired twice in rapid secession, dropping two soldiers outside the office.

"Since when do we do strategy?" I asked, half jokingly. "Cover me while I get downstairs." Will prepared himself next to the railing, and when he raised two fingers, I stormed downstairs. Didn't stop to look to the side, didn't stop to do anything. I just ran until I was in a safe position, and fortunately, no one compromised that position. I left the door half open and counted off my vigors. First, Devil's Kiss, as Will had a swarm of crows out; then, I sent my own swarm out to help him with his. Then, some Shock Jockey traps to keep them from flanking us, and we had a sufficient perimeter set up.

And then we got to destroying this brigade in front of us. We didn't have much time to waste, but at least we were only fighting humans instead of translucent tear-presidents. They were at least manageable. Crows were pecking their eyes out and/or setting them on fire, more than a few of them were acting as lightning rods and transferring lightning to their friends. It really was amazing, some of the things you could do with vigors. But we weren't even close to done.

Will jumped down the stairs - I could only tell by the thud and him grunting - and pulled into my room, taking cover on the other side of the door. "Booker," he muttered, "Did you get a good look at how many there are?" he asked.

"No, you're the strategist. What are we up against?"

"An _army. _And before you ask, I wish I was kidding, but I'm not." He got a few shots in from behind the door, but only then did I start to notice how sever our situation was.

They were coming from upstairs now, too. Lucy came in the room from the back door and closed it quietly, hoping no one had noticed. With luck, no one knew there was a back door, but just in case, I planted down a Devil's Kiss. At the very least, it'd give us a warning. But still, every time a crow or a bullet killed a man out there, I noticed just how large the force really was. The balcony was teeming with men, all in a much more favorable position than ours. And I can only imagine how bad it must be a few floors down.

"So what's our plan?" I asked, gritting my teeth. I didn't like where this was going.

"Our plan is to take them on multiple fronts," he said, loading six more bullets into Lucy. "If I take on half of the force and weave around the upper floors, I can get behind them and we can meet up behind the door. You and Lucy can wait for a few of them to chase after me and then handle whoever's left, and then head downstairs to take on who's down there. That way, their force is smaller, and by the time you get down there, they'll be weakened and we can fight them all on the same front. It's easier that way."

"What the hell?" I asked, firing a slug out the door hopelessly. "What are you going to do, get murdered? I thought we discussed that you _weren't _getting killed anymore. I can't save Elizabeth just to let her know that you're dead. Come on, Will, you've died once, and most people don't get that lucky."

He put a hand in the air. "This is our second option: Wait for them to close in on us and pray that we don't all get killed. We can't _all _die, Booker, we have to divide the risk. Worst case scenario is I wind up with a few more bullets in me and you all save Elizabeth. The needs of the many, my friend." He smiled sarcastically at me.

"I-I should go with you, Will, you need the he-"

"I move faster on my own." He interrupted Lucy. "Besides, I don't want _you _getting hurt either. Just go with Booker, he'll keep you safe. Take a break from this old windbag."

"No," I said. "Let _me _take the suicide mission this time. I'm tired of letting you get all the fun, you self-centered bastard," I continued, with a wide grin.

"No," he replied. "I don't think you two get it, they're _less likely _to go for the diversion. That's why I want less force on the diversion, because he doesn't need it as much. Please, Booker, just listen to me, we don't have much time!"

I groaned. "Fine. Tell me when you're ready to go and I'll give you some cover fire."

"Now," he said, before jumping into the fray. He used crows as a cloak and ran upstairs. "Alright, bastards, I'm ready! How about you?" he asked, taunting them. "You gonna' let a dead man do you in!" I heard gunshots and him cackling, before several people started sprinting upstairs after him. The force was halved at least. I stepped outside and decided the best way to take on this force was head on. The shotgun was loaded, pumped, and ready, and it was time for this old China Broom to get to some sweepin'.

I held up my hand for a good thirty seconds, absorbing bullets with Return to Sender. You'd think that they would notice that the bullets were literally getting sucked out of thin air, but apparently they didn't, so I sent a flurry of bullets back at them, filling them with their own lead. That left a good five or six men left, and the best way to handle them was with the old China Broom. I sprinted forward and placed it under one bulky soldier's chin, shooting the slug up into his head. The blood - and quite a bit of brain matter and skill shrapnel - flew out the back of his head and hit the goggles of the man behind him. He found a slug in his chest, too.

Don't you love that feeling when you execute something perfectly? I revved up my sky-hook and drove it through one man's sternum, using him as a shield for incoming bullets. Then, I send his now-ravaged corpse back at my assailants, knocking them over. Then, one had my foot where his neck, which was now completely broken, used to be, and the other had a field of bullets between his eyes. I snickered and then turned towards the others, hurling fire at one of their heads. He grabbed at his eyes and clutched his skin, screaming at the intense pain. He toppled into his companion, and I finished them both with a single slug.

And I still had, what, three in the magazine? Impressive. Lucy sprinted up behind me. "Booker, that was _amazing!" _she shouted, before regaining her composure. "Come on, let's get downstairs!"

We sprinted down the stairs to meet much smaller resistance than I'd initially expected. Two or three soldiers a floor, that was all. "How do you think Will's holding up?" I asked, as we came towards the elevator.

"He's more stubborn than fifty mules. If Songbird didn't put him in the grave, than there's no way in hell an army can stop the bastard." She grinned at me and I punched the elevator button.

And, speak of the devil, just as the door began to close, Will came sprinting down the hall. He placed his hand between the glass plates of the door to stop them from closing and turned around, putting bullets in the heads of his three assailants. They dropped dead rather quickly, and he started to pant.

"So how'd that go?" I asked, a sarcastic chime to my voice.

"Well," he said, breathing heavily. "We can say we just took down an army, can't we?" He laughed slightly, but it was more dispelling air than laughing. "That was almost too easy. I'm dead, and they couldn't handle me. Chumps." He laughed again. "That's the last of them. Just . . . didn't want to miss the elevator."

Lucy smiled. "I'm glad you're okay."

"I'm glad I'm okay, too," he muttered, coughing. Then that single cough turned into a flurry of coughs, and I saw a little bit of blood on his lip.

"Whoa," I said, grabbing his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Nah," he muttered. "Took a gun butt to the chest, but really, it's fine. I'll manage." He coughed again, when the doors opened with a ding. "Let's go get Elizabeth, shall we?"

Lucy took his hand and grabbed something out of her purse. "Don't lie to me, Will, is it consumption?"

"What the hell makes you think it's consumption?" he asked, genuinely bewildered.

"We've discussed that you might have gotten it while we were hiding out in Finkton. But you didn't believe me!"

"It's not consumption, dammit, I'm fine," he muttered. "Just . . . give me the medicine," he muttered, taking the pills from her hand. He gulped them down and then stepped forwards, clearing his throat once more. "Not sick."

"Fine," Lucy replied, a cross expression on her face. "But when you die, I get all your money."

"That a deal?" he asked, "'Cause you might wind up really rich one day. Old habits die hard."

She slugged him in the shoulder and they laughed momentarily, and once again I got the bipolar readings from the two of them. _They're crazy. Too crazy to define._

We were past the door we'd opened earlier, and the rooms were snowy and cold. Elizabeth's screams got louder, and I felt my heart jump to my throat. "I'm coming, Elizab-"

I turned a corner to come face to face with a giant tear, which the screams were coming from. After it disappeared, Robert and Rosalind Lutece appeared behind it. "Wh-What?" I asked.

"Why ask what. . ." started Robert,

"When the delicious question is when?" Then the lights above them flickered before shutting off. I ran into the space in front of them, trying to grab them or something, but the lights came back on and I was wrestling with the air.

"What the hell just happened?" asked Will.

"_When _the hell just happened," Lucy said, half jokingly. "Come on, let's keep going. . ."

I continued into the next room ahead of them, and it was caked with snow. Sculptures of the Founding Fathers lay in the snow, and at the far side of the room, there was a silhouette of a woman. I knew who it was immediately, but I couldn't come to terms with it. "Well hello, Booker." It was definitely Elizabeth, but her voice sounded . . . strange. "And the rest of you. As you can see, I don't even have control anymore. The lunatics are running the asylums. My children, my creations. The things I've done, Booker. Will, Lucy. The things I've done."

"E-Elizabeth?" said Will, stepping forwards. "What's going on?"

"How are you doing, Will, considering you were dead a while ago?"

"I'm fine," he said. "We've come to get you. . ."

"But you don't need to get me. It's too late for that."

"B-But. . ." I said, "I was coming for you. I would've . . . I would've saved you."

"Songbird," she said. "He always stops you. Always has." She held out her hand to me. "Come, take my hand." I took several steps forward, and then I saw her face.

Our once, sweet, young, innocent Elizabeth now bore the face of a miserable old hag who'd seen more than enough for her days. I stared into her eyes, which were the only things that remained the same, but what was more frightening was what I saw after I was on the ledge.

New York. On fire. That one dream I'd had, where New York was getting burned down, completely destroyed, but as I said, it wasn't like any New York I'd ever seen. It was a fancy New York with neon lights, fancy horseless carriages, all of that. Will and Lucy hopped up behind me, and their jaws were agape, just as mine was. Columbia was attacking the Sodom, bathing it in flame, just as they said they would. The prophecy was right.

"Say what you will about Comstock," started Elizabeth, "but he was one hell of a fortune teller."

I grabbed her shoulder. "I don't get it, Elizabeth, what the hell's going on?"

"You're in a tear. The distant future. I won't tell you when, for your own sake, but you're not where you belong. I've brought you all here. Booker, I brought you here immediately after the Songbird attack. Will, Lucy, you two are from a period long after that. I couldn't use you if you were in such a poor state, so I picked the perfect moment to send you here."

"Why not just take a me from before the Songbird attack?"

"You needed to think I was in trouble, Will, which is what motivated you. But now . . . I'm not in trouble anymore, am I?" Her voice was withered and weak.

"E-Elizabeth, I ca-"

"It's too late for me," she said, putting her hand up. She grabbed a card from some unknown compartment and held it out to me. "But you can still give this to her."

I grabbed the card and looked at it. There was some kind of cipher, and a drawing of a cage on it. "What's . . . What's it do?" I asked.

"She'll know."

"And what's it mean?"

"It's instructions. On how not to become me."

And before I could ask anymore questions, Elizabeth sent us flying back in time, a giant hole of curiosity in my chest.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38: The Rescue

Will's Perspective. (Shocker, right?)

So that didn't work quite like I thought it would. Once again, a tear opened around us, and I bit the inside of my cheek, gradually adjusting to the pain. It gets easier the more often you do it, and this place is filled with tears. But I still don't get the whole timeline thing, and I wasn't sure where we were. All I knew was I was directly in front of a door, and I was staring at that door.

"It's . . . It's 1912," shouted Booker. "I can still save her!" He charged forwards and kicked the door down, immediately. Then he rushed into a big, dark room. I glanced towards Lucy to make sure she was okay, and she smiled with half her heart. We'd developed a system over our year-and-then-some of refuge together, and we didn't need words to communicate anymore. It was odd that I knew her better than anyone else, but we weren't even particularly good friends. I'd seen her turn from a girl to a woman in the short time I'd known her, and there were still people I felt I liked better. Even if that's a little mean.

I stepped inside the room and then I felt my emotions all boil down into one; rage. Not just anger, but rage, as in I couldn't see straight. I was in some sort of blood haze upon seeing what I'd just seen.

Elizabeth was tied into a large, iron chair, which was stained red with her blood. There was some large device clamped into her back, and she was screaming with pain. There was some sort of restraint on her, so she couldn't use her tears or anything. Doctors were grabbing scalpels and all sorts of tools that they could use to prod her around her. And she was behind a giant glass wall, too, and behind that one, there was one that held the silhouette of Zachary Hale Comstock.

I ran forwards and slammed my fist into the glass barrier without meaning to, only resulting in the slightest hairline crack. "Nice of you all to join us!" called Comstock, from his balcony. I attempted to reply, but I couldn't.

"Will, calm down." Booker put his hand on my shoulder. "We need to get her out of there." He fired a slug into the glass, and it barely budged, let alone cracked. "Dammit."

"Ignore them!" shouted one of the doctors. "They'll never get through. If she gets ornery, hit her with the machines," called one of the doctors, who I recognized from several of the tears.

"Comstock!" shouted Booker. "What are you doing?"

"I believe the expression is: 'Day late and a dollar short', Mister DeWitt." He turned around, laughing to himself, and the devices around Elizabeth started feeding some tear stuff into her. If I wasn't so pissed off that probably would've hurt.

"Don't worry, Elizabeth, I'm coming!" I shouted, before sprinting towards the most immediate exit; the door on the left side of the room. With luck, this would lead back into the surgery room. Following the giant chords that connected to the machines should have been good enough.

"Will, Booker!" shouted Lucy, running after us. She looked tired; the tear was taking toll on her, I suppose. "You can't just get in there, the mechanics have sealed off the room and all the doors and whatnot are electronically powered by that generator back in there!"

"And I thought you were getting rusty with the tech stuff," I muttered, grabbing Sally out of my pocket. I loaded a fresh six rounds in and flicked the barrel back into place, ready for anything.

"So we need to shut down the generator and then we should be able to find a way in from another part of the building, or just break the canopy. It shouldn't be too hard."

"Easier said than done, Lucy," muttered Booker. "Will, want to formulate a strategy?"

I wasn't formulating any strategies, though. I already had my gun to a soldier's forehead and had shorted out the turret behind me with a couple well placed shots. Clearing the hallway was easy enough; now I just needed to make sure it was nothing more intense further on. Might as well keep the soldier as a human shield. "Now, don't think you're going to survive this," I muttered. "I'm not giving you a choice." I saw a bead of sweat appear on his forehead.

"L-Look sir, I ain't got nothin' to do with what they doin' to the girl! Cross my heart, I-I'm just here 'cus Comstock pays me to be here! I don't like what they doin', and I ain't gonna' do nothin' like it again, promise! Just let me live, I-I got a family!" He clasped his hands in front of his face, instead of clawing at my hands. "Jesse . . . Jesse, please let the kids forgive their daddy for bein' a dumbass. . ."

I pitied him for a moment. Just a moment. But rage has a tendency to dull pity, and it did. I didn't let him go, and we stepped into the next room, me and this nameless soldier. And inside, their stood squad of four, all armed with shotguns and dressed in "bullet proof" materials, that would - supposedly - protect them from my assaults.

But I had a "bullet proof" material in front of me, too. Though, a shotgun slug from close up would probably fly straight through him, so that didn't work.

I fired over his shoulder and the first one fell with a bullet in his throat. My accuracy amazed me, sometimes, especially considering I was aiming at his hand. "I-I'll stand still for ya', mister, I promise! A-And I'll help you get your girly out, promise!" The soldier still pleaded for reasons to survive. I sighed.

"Stand _right _behind that pillar." I tossed him to the side and ordered him to a location. "If you're exactly where you were when I left you, I'll _consider _letting you live. If not, all the exits are blocked off in here. It's only a matter of time until I find you." I tipped my hat to him and rose my gun to a readied position once more, aiming at the group of soldiers. They were currently occupied with Booker, though, who had apparently come from the other side. I took now as an opportunity moment and ran up the stairs, to shut off one of the machines that was constricting Elizabeth.

The room was relatively simple; all glass looking bay, completely vacant of anything but a control module, which consisted mostly of fancy levers. I didn't know what any of them did, so I assumed that the giant red one that said "OFF" probably shut the machine off. So I lifted my gun towards the scientist's head. "You got five seconds to move, partner."

He raised his hands instantly, but stood in front of the lever. I saw his face contorting underneath the medical mask, but none of his features - excluding his eyes - were very discernible. And I could see in his eyes that he'd just done something clever.

So I turned around to come face to face with a motorized patriot in the form of Comstock, with glowing yellow eyes. The glowing yellow eyes part was the only creepy bit; other than that, it was just as aggravating as it had been a few minutes ago. The problem was that it had a crank gun pointed straight at my chest and I had about two inches of wiggle room. I fired at its head furiously, but this one seemed particularly reinforced; the shell didn't tumble off or anything, it just collected bullet holes, and in some places, it cracked. But then it just started to rev up its crank gun, and finally, it let loose firing.

Magnetic shields are dandy and all, but they can only collect about - what, ten rounds? - before they break. And we were approaching that number at a dangerous rate. I danced around the control cabin, trying to get a look at its gears, but they were never in sight, and then it just corrected its path of assault. Though, he did riddle the scientist with bullets, unintentionally. That was a good thing.

Just as it pointed the barrel of the gun at my head and prepared to pull the trigger, I heard a strange whirring noise. Its head jerked back and forth, and then it tumbled forwards. Its gears had been ripped out, and behind it stood the soldier I'd "rescued" - no, spared - earlier. He had the gears in his hands, and was panting heavily. "Hey, be more careful!" he shouted. "Your pal's already shuttin' down the other machine. Go on!" He shooed me forwards and turned around, pulling a machine gun off his back. "I'll watch the entrance!"

I blinked several times. "You didn't stay where I told you to."

"I saw the patriot come in and figured it was going to rip you to shreds. I had to do something. Looks like I came just in time, too." He snickered. "We're gettin' her out of there, right?"

"Obviously," I muttered, pulling down the lever. I saw the machine in front of me shut down, and I sighed with relief. "So what made you do that? You could've escaped if you'd just let me die."

"Well," he said, tilting his head. "I figured that, you're here fightin' for a reason, and I fought for money. For the food to feed my family with. But then I noticed that doin' this is just hurtin' my family, and I realized that y'all are on the winnin' side of this fight. So why not help out? You could say I had a revelation, or epiphany in the time you were gone. By the way, name's Rick. You?"

"My name's a name that you'll learn when you earn it, Rick," I muttered. "Why's Booker taking so long?"

"Want me to go check on him?" asked my newly gained companion. I couldn't tell if he was doing this to be kind, or if it was his way of preserving his own life by winning my favor.

"He'll just shoot you when he sees you. We'll wait a while before we go to see what's keeping him." So I shoved Sally back in my pocket as a symbol of trust, and we stood there, waiting.

We waited just a few seconds too long, though. "Don't hurt him!" I heard a voice shout, which I instantly recognized as Lucy's. I rushed past Rick and down the stairs as quickly as I could, to see Booker downed at the hands of a shotgun shock trooper. He had Booker's own shotgun pointed at his chest, and he seemed to be smiling widely.

Then he collapsed with a bullet in his head. _So much for bullet proof._

"You alright, Booker?" I asked, as Lucy rummaged through her bag for medical equipment. "Tell me where it hurts."

He moaned and raised a middle finger to me, pointing towards the door. "Shut off the damn machine."

"Right," I muttered. "Rick, help these guys nurse Booker's wound!"

"Got it, boss!" replied Rick, running towards Booker. Booker instantly batted at him with his hands, believing it to be another enemy, but I raised my hand.

"Easy, Booker, he's an . . . ally, I suppose. Just let him help you." Rick took off his helmet, and for the first time I saw his poorly cut black hair and more of his facial expression, which was actually somewhat kind. But no time to consider that. I rushed upstairs and pulled another lever after shoving the scientist aside, and the machines shut off. Elizabeth clenched her fists and slowly sat up, before . . .

. . . she ripped a tornado into existence from wherever and watched it eat up the entire room. Everything in it - machines, scientists, soldiers, they all got sucked in and hurled through the tear. The glass shattered and debris from the other world flew in as well, littering the room with wood chips, walls, and everything. The display was absolutely gorgeous, if you find the complete and total destruction of something you absolutely despise completely and totally gorgeous.

Which I did.

I ran back down the stairs before the looking bay imploded. Booker was on his feet, shifting his weight from foot to foot, as us gunslingers often did. It helped us shift the pain around until we were used to it in all locations. Then he nodded his head. "Is she out?"

"I think she just got herself out," I said, jerking my head backwards. "Come on, let's get a move on." Booker took several steps forward before nodding.

Rick walked towards me and smiled. "So. . . What's the plan? For me, at least. I take it you don't want me around for too much longer."

"You can stick around until we get you a ride. Then you can go get your family or something. Whatever you want to do. We'll get you a gondola and then be done with this whole thing." I sighed, turning around. "Now, I have something much more important to get to."

There was a ramp made out of a wall that led into the surgery chamber, and I jumped in, more giddy than a schoolgirl. I contained my emotions long enough to approach the side of her bed. Her eyes went wide. "W-Will?" she asked, as if she'd just seen a ghost - though, I suppose from her perspective, she did just see a ghost. "I-I. . ." she said, holding back tears. "I thought you were dead."

"You were right," I muttered, turning her around. "Let's . . . get you out of here." The giant circular thing clamped onto her back looked incredibly painful, and I grabbed it. "You ready?"

She nodded slowly, and I ripped it out. The needle was long and bloodstained, and I fought back that twang of rage that had been controlling me for the past little while. It was easier to be mad than content. Then pointed at her back. "Lace up my corset, please," she asked, a look of embarrassment on her face. Lucy and Booker arrived in the chamber, now, as I did the laces. Lucy walked in front of her and reached into her bag, preparing to pull something out. "Lucy. Hi."

Lucy nodded and continued digging through her bag. "I have a surprise for you!" _Oh gods. Not this. _Lucy pulled out the Songbird doll she'd kept for the past more-than-a-year and held it forwards. "I still have it!"

Elizabeth seemed slightly surprised, in a bad way. "Of course you still have it. You still had it before I came here."

"Easy, Elizabeth," called Booker, "You might think it's only been a little while. So do I. But they. . . They haven't seen either of us in a year."

"How's that work?" she asked, as I finished tying up her corset. Rick walked into the room next, hoping not to interrupt. Fortunately, Elizabeth didn't question his presence.

"You could ask yourself that," I muttered, helping her up. She looked up at me with a puzzled expression, but then she did something I'd missed for a terribly long time; she jumped into my arms and attacked my lips passionately. It was slightly embarrassing, considering she was only wearing a corset and skirt, but I didn't care. I'd missed her.

She pushed her forehead against my chest and started to sob. "I th-thought you were dead. Songbird . . . he killed you."

"Technically, he did," I replied, and she looked up at me with a pained expression. "But I'm far too stubborn to just die. The afterlife was too boring for me, so I came back."

Lucy and Booker stared at me with death glares. "Oh, and they helped," I continued, grinning at them. "Come on, let's get you out of here. We've got reservations in Paris."

"No," she shouted, regaining her composure. "I need to see Comstock."

I blinked. "What for? He's not a part of your life anymore."

"I can't leave this floating chunk of hell without killing that bastard," she muttered, clenching her fists. She walked away from me to pull on her jacket, hiding the large circular scar she would now bear for the rest of her life.

Booker raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to do that? We could just leave right now."

"You don't have to help me." She took a moment to display the power of her tears again, drawing the hurricane into the room once more. "I can handle myself."

"Oh no, we're helping." I wrapped my arms around her waist and rocked back and forth with her. "You'd be insane to think I'd let you walk away again."

She simply pushed me straightened some wrinkles in her jacket. I felt a slight twang of pain in my chest, but I figured that might be how she felt for the past however long she'd been here. Either way, now wasn't the time to get all lovey-dovey. We had business to settle. "He'll be on his fancy Zeppelin, the hand of the prophet." Then she looked towards Rick. "Who's that?"

"Rick," he replied, saluting her. "I'm Ex-Founder material. I helped Will get you out of here, as a matter of fact. Saved his hide."

Elizabeth elbowed me. "Lots of people have to save his hide."

"True, true." Everyone in the room nodded in a chorus of agreement, and I raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, don't act like that. I'm not helpless."

Whatever air of humor I had been able to bring to this adventure before now was gone. Everything was dull and depressing now, and as much as that hurt me, there was nothing I could do. "Fine. Let's go find the hand of the prophet."


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: Sorry for such an incredibly late update! I don't have an excuse, I just got sort of lazy for a little while. It's summer time, I deserve to be lazy. :E Anyways. Back to business!**

* * *

Chapter 39: The Injury

Booker's Perspective.

Elizabeth picked the lock on the door to Comstock's office and it opened slowly, revealing a large, ornate staircase. I eyed the inside of the room, making sure there were no threats, and then we headed upstairs.

"I can't believe you couldn't pick that lock," I muttered. "Now we actually have to find the _keys _for things."

"I'm sorry," she replied. "I couldn't do it because hairpins don't always cut it, Booker, and we don't have any genuine lock picks. That's not my fault."

"No one said it was," I continued, letting out a feint sigh. "I just don't like that we can't cut around the corner. We only have so long before Comstock makes a bigger problem out of this."

"Relax, Booker," said Lucy, who had apparently been listening to the conversation. Rick and Will were still outside, discussing the terms of their partnership, as well as sports and photography and whatnot. Two peas in a pod, they were. "Now that we've liberated Elizabeth, we have the cards in our hands. They can't stop us if we're all together, it's just not possible."

And there was that dash of happiness that adorned this giant plate of depression. _How can she stand to be so nice in such a morbid environment? _"I guess you're right," I replied, with a grunt._  
_

"There's nothing in here," called Elizabeth from further up the staircase. "Just a vault. Want me to try and crack it?"

"Go ahead." We ascended the rest of the way up the staircase, and I looked around Comstock's office to see just what it would look like.

It was organized, as I would expect, but some things surprised me. Firstly, there were bookshelves lining both walls, which contained books written by the Luteces and other famous physicists that I didn't know. Then there were the decorations on the wall, which didn't match him at all: golden plates and other such fancy adornments that would usually be reserved for a trophy room. There were no religious preacher things save the Holy Bible on his desk, which sat next to a picture of Elizabeth when she was a child.

"Did anyone ever tell you you were adorable as a child?" I asked, before realizing that I probably shouldn't have said that.

"No one was around when I was a child, Booker," she replied in a monotone voice. I grimaced internally, knowing we'd have to continue this conversation.

"Y-Yeah, but I figured that . . . people had seen pictures, you know? It's just . . . yeah." I couldn't properly form a sentence in this environment.

"I suppose people _did _see me, but they never said anything to me. And Songbird couldn't exactly talk." _This isn't going well. Lucy, intervene, please._

"Well, th-that's . . . that's not really what I meant. I-It was more . . . I wanted to tell you that you were cute as a child. That's all."

"Thanks."

That was the end of the conversation. _I could not have messed that up more if I tried._

We all continued scrounging around the room - except Will and the soldier, they were out being new best friends - and then I found the keys, hung around the knob of a desk drawer. "I found the keys."

Then I heard a light "chink" sound and Elizabeth opened the door to the vault. "Feel free to line your pockets."

The vault was filled to the brim with golden bars. There was literally _nothing _else in there. Just golden bars. There was no way we could haul that all out of there, but if we could, I had a feeling we'd be able to afford a city block. Lucy ran over to the fault and gasped. "Whoa! We could buy anything with this!"

"Maybe not anything we want, but quite a bit. But the money's not what matters right now."

Then she shot me an adorable puppy-dog look and I grunted.

We walked out of Comstock's office with a three bags full of golden bars. The girls seemed fine with carrying it, as it was for their benefit, but I was carrying the bulk of the weight and I wasn't sure how long my spine could take it.

Will laughed at me. "Came with some souvenirs, did you?"

"Shut up, Foreman." I tossed him the keys to the lock and he started fiddling around with them, trying to find out which one fit it.

"What do you guys have in there?" asked Rick. I felt weird every time I acknowledged him by his name; I'd been killing these people for the past week, even if it felt like so much more than that, and I'd never even considered the fact that they all had lives outside of the Founders. It almost made me feel guilty.

"A city's worth of golden bars that Comstock just had lying around. He didn't plan on using it, so we figured we might as well liberate it. Want some?"

He tried to hide a gigantic grin and ended up failing miserably. "S-Sure, why not?"

"You're carryin' it, not me, pal," I replied, as I took out three or four bars of the dense material and handed it towards him. He shoved it inside that giant Columbian-standard-issue backpack that all the soldiers had and I leaned forwards, allowing him to take what he wanted. Any less weight was fine off my back.

Still, I struggled with it, but everyone else seemed fine. How did they all seem so content with carrying all of this stuff? And then there was Will, who wasn't carrying anything, but he was in front, so it was important that he had mobility. "First sign of danger, we drop the bags. Only pick them up if it's _completely _safe. We're not taking any chances."

"Fine, fine," they all replied in a chorus of annoyed voices. I scowled slightly.

For the most part I stayed to the back of the group as we walked through the hallways of Comstock house. This was the more normal part that _didn't _consist of torture chambers or insane bits and pieces. It was like your average mansion, if there's such a thing as an average mansion, where a family would stay. We passed a giant arched door that would probably be Comstock's chambers, but none of us decided it was a good idea to go in.

We came across some sort of serving bar in a room that was completely trashed. A firefight between the Founders and the Vox went down here, and the aftermath wasn't particularly pretty. "Rick, we goin' the right way?"

"Yeah, if we go out on the balcony we should get to the shipping dock. Then we'll probably find the Hand of the Prophet propped up somewhere. If not, we'll just take a gondola to it."

Will raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were going to take your own gondola back to your family."

"If we can't do that. There might only be one, after all." Those two were so chummy already. "I'm gonna' look around the room. The door to the balcony's probably locked, so Eli- miss, would you please do me the kindness of opening the door?" He refrained from using her name. Maybe that's because he was one of the soldiers assigned to keep her in the damn place.

She nodded slowly and I followed her over to the door, which she started messing around with. Lucy played around in the middle of the room, and we were alone, for the most part. "Elizabeth."

"Yes?" she replied, in a hushed, weak tone.

"You know . . . I'm sorry. I didn't think before I said that stuff."

"There's no reason to apologize, Booker. You didn't do anything wrong." She snapped the lock and pushed the door open, turning to face me. "I didn't take any offense."

"I know, it's just. . . I shouldn't have said it." _This is just making things more awkward. _"So. . . we're good?"

She chuckled slightly. "We were never _bad _in the first place. Quit overreacting, silly."

The rest of the group approached us, now, and I decided to change the subject of conversation. "Alright, let's keep going, then." I nodded towards her and she nodded back. _Great. That's settled._

The balcony did lead straight to some kind of bay, but I almost wished it didn't. It was filled with warring Vox Populi and Founder troops. That normally would've been a good thing, if we didn't have to run through that giant war zone to get to the gondola we needed so desperately to get to the Hand of the Prophet - which wasn't here. Great.

"The gondola's should come pre-programmed with the Hand of the Prophet's location, so as soon as you get on one you can easily make it to the zeppelin. Then, the rest of the trip should be easy." Rick smiled at us as if nothing was wrong.

"Hey, it's the False Shepard!" shouted someone on either side of the battle. _So much street cred. _

Then all the bullets started hurtling towards us. Don't get me wrong, they still fought each other, but the bulk of their forces came at us. _I guess they hate me enough to forget about their differences and attack me. That's great._

The rear ends of their forces destroyed themselves for us, but the bulk of the assault was still coming our way. We were under heavy fire, and despite the large amounts of cover, we couldn't move at all to get any shots in. Blind fire, vigors, and hope that they'd kill each other before they killed us was all we had. "Elizabeth, bring in the mosquito, please," called Will, loading six more bullets into Sally.

"A-Are you sure?" she replied, cowering down next to me.

"Yes, I'm sure." The mosquito would provide some very useful covering fire, or at least would keep them distracted for a sufficient amount of time. Once it was in our dimension, it started raining down machine gun bullets on our opposition, and the bullets stopped whizzing past us. I stood up and stormed to the next closest piece of cover, and the rest of our group did the same. Three soldiers stood in front of us, decently spread apart, and in three blasts they were all dead. _I love this shotgun._

The mosquito got blasted out of the sky and the attention returned to us, but at least we were in a more favorable position now. We were under some kind of balcony, held up by rectangular pillars, and in the center there was a heap of rubble that could easily be used as cover. So now our position was much more favorable, especially considering the shade; the skies were dark, and under here, it was even darker, so they couldn't see us. The tables had turned, to a degree.

We continued fighting our way across the dock, ripping through soldiers, machines, and motorized patriots alike. Eventually we got to the gondolas, which were relatively vacant, but we still had a giant force camped out behind us. I hopped on the gondola and gestured for everyone else to come along. We all climbed up, despite the chaos, and found more cover on the ship. I ran towards the cockpit and prepared to pull the lever down, but the ship lurched to the side. "Rockets!" shouted a voice from outside, that I couldn't identify. I rushed outside to check the situation, and didn't quite like what I saw.

Rick had been knocked off the boat and was back on the dock, and we were quite a ways away from him. Vox airships were dropping troops everywhere and launching rockets to us and stuff. "Rick, jump!" called Will, from the side of the boat. "I'll catch you!"

"No can do. Someone's got to stay behind and handle the rockets while the rest of us get out!" He pulled his rifle off his back.

"You'll get ripped to shreds!"

"So? Look, just go, it's fine." He fired some shots into the large red cloud, and Will sighed.

"I'm going to have to do this, aren't I?" Will pulled on his sky-hook and jumped off the ship, barely managing to pull himself up. Thunder flashed and I saw everything in a white outline.

"Will, what the hell are you doing!?" shouted Elizabeth. "Get back on the damn boat!"

"I owe this bastard, and I can't let my debts go unpaid. We'll catch up!" He dove into cover and turned towards the ship. "Sorry 'bout this." He shot through the windows of the cockpit and knocked the lever down, sending us on our course to the Hand of the Prophet. Then, all I saw was a giant cloud of smoke as a rocket slammed into the dock near them, sending us out of the dock and away from them.

"Stop this damn boat this instant!" called Elizabeth again. She was hysterical, unsure how to process the situation. I ran back into the cockpit to check the lever, and saw that it was broken. We couldn't go back.

_Well. He's dead. _

Then I heard a scream. "You're not getting away from me, False Prophet! This one's for Fitzroy!" I heard the distinct sound of a sniper rifle bullet, and then I heard an even more distinct whimper.

Lucy.

I slammed open the door and stepped outside to see Lucy collapsed on the ground in an expanding pool of blood. Elizabeth shrieked and leaned down next to her. "Lucy!" I knelt next to her as well and took a moment to examine the wound.

_No one is going to die, Booker, just stay positive. It's only a bullet wound, it's only a bullet wo-_

No it wasn't.

The bullet went in relatively straight, but it tore quite a bit of the flesh and there was this bleeding mass in her side. "Did it hit anything vital?" I asked, grabbing some gauze. Elizabeth took the bullet out.

"I don't know. . . I-I think we'll find out soon, though, get the bandages!"

We took quite some time to apply the medical equipment and had eventually nursed the wound, but that didn't help the fact that we were practically _swimming _in a giant pool of blood. The white coat she had been wearing was now entirely stained, and I had blood all over my hands. She continued whimpering, too weak to speak. "Prop her up against a wall or something, I gotta' make sure the ship is okay." Elizabeth put her in a better position and proceeded to stroke her hair, muttering that it would be fine. Meanwhile, I walked into the cockpit and checked the control panels, just to make sure nothing had exploded while we were playing doctor.

"Booker," called Elizabeth, "she wants to talk to you."

"Right. I'll be there in a second." I dropped the dumb pack of gold bars onto the ground and stepped outside, to see how she was doing.

Her face was deathly pale. "Booker. Hi. I-Is Will here?"

I guess it makes sense that that's the first thing she'd ask. "No, I'm afraid . . . he's not."

"He's not coming back, i-is he?. . ." she asked, a sweet, yet sad expression on her face.

"We don't know. But we can hope, right?" I smiled wryly towards her.

"You can only cheat death for so long, Booker, and he's had plenty of help with cheating death. He can't cheat it this time." She sighed. "I was supposed . . . to tell him something. And now I'll never get the chance."

"Of course you will," I replied, smiling at her. "Stop being so morbid." I felt my heart wrenching around in my chest, watching her eyelids flutter. "You're gonna' be okay."

"That's not what I'm worried about," she said. "I have to survive this. If I don't . . . everything we did was pointless. Not you all, but me and Will. We're here . . . f-for a-" she coughed, sputtering a little. "- a reason."

"Hey, calm down. Yeah, I know you are." I stroked her cheek slightly and patted her shoulder. Elizabeth just watched the scene from behind us.

"No, that's not what I meant again. I-It's hard to explain. . ." She put a finger on her chin, and then nodded to herself. "They said you'd find out eventually, but I don't know if it's my place to tell you. . ."

"Tell me what? Who told you what?" I asked, now growing confused.

"I just need to tell Will about his job. He doesn't know about it, h-he was sleeping when they told me. . . Or was he out at the time?"

_She must be getting delirious. Blood loss does that to people. _

"Look, Lucy, I need you to take it easy. You're saying stuff that doesn't make sense right now." Her eyelids fluttered again, and I bit my lip, praying that they wouldn't shut. If that happened, they might never open again.

"It makes sense to me," she said, laughing slightly. "You two'll get it in a little while." She dragged Elizabeth into the conversation now. "Don't worry, if Will's not fine, this'll just all happen again. It'll happen until he gets it right. . . Like it's happened before. No worries. And if I'm not fine, it'll . . . it'll happen again. Until I get it right. And next time, I'll know that bullets . . . really hurt." Then she grabbed my hand. "You're going to do great, Booker, I promise."

"Hey, don't talk like that. I don't even know what you mean anymore."

"I'm gonna' take a nap now, if it's all the same to you." She smiled at me, and within seconds, her head lolled to the side.

My heart stopped for just a moment, looking at her face. Her hair, usually brown and wavy, was now blood-streaked and damp. I stared at that picture for a little while, not wanting to check her pulse. I wasn't sure if I could manage if I found out she was dead. But then, my curiosity got the better of me, and I jabbed two fingers into her neck, seeing what I could detect.

_Thump. Thump. _All I could feel was that weak pulse running through her veins. But it was a pulse. Whether or not it would stay there was a different matter entirely.

I turned towards Elizabeth, who stared at me with expectant eyes. "She's still breathing." Then she let out a sigh of relief.

"I'd cry about this whole situation, if I had any tears left to shed." She leaned against the railing and stared into the clouds. "I want to be optimistic, but my brain just says no. It refuses to let me blindly believe something that I want so badly to be true." She looked at me with weary eyes. "What do you think?"

"I think hell decided to take a shit on our operation, if you want the truth." She laughed slightly, and I looked at her. "You know, while we're here, before one of _us _gets shot, I need to tell you something."

"And what's that, Booker?"

"You're probably the strongest person I'll ever know. I don't know a single person who could go through all the stuff you've been through without giving up on themselves. And yet . . . you're still positive. The only person I know who could pull that off is Will, and that's only because he's heartless." I tried to give her a warm expression, but she didn't look at me. "I'm proud to say I know you."

"You don't need to talk like that, Booker."

"It's just the truth," I continued. "This entire thing was possible because of you."

"But you all got dragged into it because of me, too, and I'm the reason Will's down there fighting for our lives, and I'm the reason Lucy's got a hole the size of a medallion in her." I saw a single tear rolling down her face, and I reached over to wipe it aside with my finger. Only then did she turn to look at me.

"Now you're just saying things you don't need to. We would've died a long time before this if it had been any other woman I was sent to rescue in a tower. And I'm glad that I took up this job instead of staying with my debt problems. It's introduced me to a great many new things."

Elizabeth smiled genuinely for the first time in a little while. "Everything's going to be fine," she said. "Will and Rick are going to pop up and be annoying any time now, and Lucy'll wake up and put on her big smiling face, we'll deal with Comstock and then we'll get to Paris. That's how it'll happen, right?"

What an optimist. But at that moment, I was more concerned with the figure in front of us.

The Hand of the Prophet loomed over us; the giant, navy blue balloon a symbol of opposition. "You've come quite some way, Booker," called the voice of Comstock.

And then at least a dozen Founder airships surrounded us.


End file.
